Finding Mathias
by theKeeperofMemories
Summary: Mathias is plagued by the past he could barely remember and Lukas is plagued by the past he never had. A darker, twisted, Hetalian version of 'Finding Dory', starring Lukas Bondevik as Marlin, Emil Steilsson as Nemo, and Mathias Køhler as Dory. #Sequel to Finding Emil with a sprinkle of DenNor.
1. Prologue

**Finding Mathias**

 **Prologue**

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to thank you all warmly for coming." The man who spoke raised his glass of wine as a salute to the others situated around the small, round table. He wore white suit with a pale green tie, black shoes polished, normally unruly brown hair now tamed and smoothened into a more formal and business-like appearance.

"Oh, Romulus," one of the four other people standing around the dining table gave a small laugh. "Ever the courteous gentleman." It was a regal, beautiful woman who raised her wineglass as well and inclined it to the man – Romulus. Her face was free of make-up save for a light lipstick and mascara, but her dark curls were smoothed back into a bun held in place with twisting gold, and her royal blue dress hugged her figure snugly. "There's no need to be so formal, is there? We're all friends here."

"Helena is right." The deep rumble of a tall and broad-shouldered man caught the attention of the other people in the small luxury compartment. "This is a day of celebration." His long blond hair and stoic expression made him all the more intimidating in more ways than one, but his icy blue eyes were soft as he gazed around the room.

Romulus threw back his head and gave a quick bark of laughter. "How true." He lifted his glass once more. "Then let me say this: we're in Rome, which means I'm probably paying the bills. This restaurant is not cheap, and we're all growing old and fat, so don't eat too much!"

"Of course," a third man spoke up, his pale lips curling into a light-hearted smirk. "We shall eat till our stomachs burst and drain your wallet completely." He ran a hand through short, light blonde hair, violet-blue eyes filled with a playful light.

"Erikur, honestly," another woman spoke this time, rolling her eyes. Her caramel colored skin and golden eyes gave her an exotic look, her black hair was neatly trimmed to just above her shoulders, a gold headband keeping her bangs at bay. Her flowing white dress was modest enough, but golden bangles and bracelets rattled from her wrists and slender neck. "Today is not just a day of celebration, it is also a day of remembrance. Let's take this a bit seriously first before going wild, shall we?"

"Of course, Nefertiti. Valid point." Romulus cleared his throat and said, "Two years ago, on this day, we created paradise among humanity. Despite many obstacles, God – or Allah," he shot a quick glance at Nefertiti, who gave a small smile, "– has helped us overcome all problems, and allowed us to flourish and grow. Today, let us celebrate and remember this day as the day paradise was born." He lifted his glass of dark red wine, his actions echoed by the others around the table.

"To Paradizo: the origin of Paradise!"

* * *

He knew she was awake the moment he entered the room, but she did not actually stir. Her light blonde hair, silvery in the moonlight, was splayed over her pillow, her pale skin almost glowing. A slender arm was thrown over the steadily rising and falling chest of her husband, who remained oblivious to the dangerous trespasser in the room.

A child, no older than two, snored gently in a crib near the bed, the round features filled with such life and innocence he felt guilty just by looking at him.

Her eyelids fluttered, cracking open curiously, unafraid to stare at him. Her lips moved quickly, but the words were soft, and reached him a second later. "They sent you."

"I'm sorry." The words scraped against his throat, raw and broken.

"Don't be." She rose gracefully, thin blankets slithering off her slender shoulders and revealing too much cleavage behind a thin nightgown. He quickly averted his eyes. "I actually expected you to come a bit earlier."

"Laila?" The man next to her stirred, groaning slightly as he woke. "What-" And then he saw him.

The husband shot up into a sitting position, dark blue eyes wide and staring. For a moment, all that was on his face was cold terror, before it drained away, and the man laughed.

He did not see what was so funny about the situation.

"It's time then, isn't it?" the man asked no one in particular. "Don't know if I expected it or if I'm surprised."

"This is no joking matter," he said coolly.

"No, of course not." The smile disappeared. He flopped back onto the bed, an arm thrown over his eyes. "Just make it quick."

He glanced at Laila, who was staring down at her husband. She felt his gaze, and she nodded slowly. "This is the only way to do it. Any way else would only make life a living hell." Then, she gave a bitter laugh. "Not like death is any better."

"You're not going to hell, Laila." It sounded ridiculous, even to his own ears. Where else does a killer go?

Laila was more realistic than him. "Well, I'm not going to heaven either, am I?" She sighed, and offered a small, sad smile. "Just finish it, quickly. Before they wake up." And then she laid down as well, eyes closed, throat clenched.

His knife glinted in the faint light that peeked through the thin curtains, and just like every single time, his hands trembled.

"Arthur." He looked up, away from the weapon and towards the bed where two still figures laid. When she called his name, her voice was soft, but stern at the same time. "Steady."

He clenched the knife harder, and he swallowed thickly. "I can't." He hated how broken and vulnerable he sounded, like a whining child.

"Years of lessons and drills and reminders, and the moment you face the real thing, you throw all my teachings out the window? Don't be an ungrateful brat." How could she sound so lighthearted?

The many voices and words were finally waking the baby in the crib, and there was a little whine.

His hand trembled harder than ever, but he angled it, stepping forward towards one side of the bed. The man first.

He had wanted a quick, maybe clean death, but it did not end that way. Between one breath and another, he slit the throat unevenly open, and the second breath was a gurgling choke of blood congesting his nose and pumping through the severed arteries and veins, spraying into air and splattering the room.

He stumbled back, horrified. _"I'm sorry-"_

"Arthur!" Laila was nearly drenched with her husband's blood. The man beside her convulsed, jerking as he choked on liquid life. He gave one more spasm before stilling, and the blood stopped spraying.

The child uttered a small wail, shifting in the crib, before quieting on his own accord.

The woman's eyes were squeezed shut, but otherwise she seemed unperturbed by her husband's ugly death. "Arthur," she repeated, and now, her eyes were open, staring unseeingly at the small splatters of blood on the ceiling. "Are you still alive?"

"I don't know," he mumbled miserably. "I don't understand why this is happening. This isn't right: how did it become like this?"

"Greed," was Laila's reply. He was standing over her now, hilt gripped tight in his hand, trying not to aim the blade at himself the way he truly wanted to. "And paranoia. Paradizo is wonderful, but it's not truly heaven, and everything on earth goes rotten some time, sooner or later." She glanced at the knife in his hands. "Do it," she ordered. Then with a teasing, almost sly, smile, she added, "I'm not going to go down quietly like Sigurd, you know."

He forced himself to smile, and watched her chest rise once, fall, and then the blade was drawn over her throat, and everything was blood again. But this time, the blood was not silent.

Dark liquid gushed from Laila's mouth as she unhinged her jaw wide and released a shattering scream. The child in the crib woke abruptly, and he wailed with his mother. It was difficult for Laila to draw breath, so she was only able to gulp down liquid filled air before another scream exploded from her.

He was paralyzed and terrified and broken beyond repair, and he thought that maybe he should just shoot himself in the head right now and then to end it all because it was simply becoming too much for him. The knife clattered from his gloved hands, and he found himself pulling free the gun strapped to his belt.

The screaming trailed off into silence, and Laila was dead beside her husband, their horrifying deaths painted across the rooms. But the baby screamed with sobs, and Arthur Kirkland felt incredibly guilty for letting death linger so close to such an innocent creature.

Patters of small feet sounded in the hallway outside the chamber. There was another child.

He lifted his gun; his hands were no longer trembling.

The lure of death was stronger than ever, especially with such power in his hands.

Maybe he should just-

* * *

Lukas woke up, and realized that he was not trembling in the middle of the night so many years ago with silent screams echoing on the walls and blood still slick and warm on the walls. It took him yet another moment to realize that he was sleeping in the middle of the day in a silent room with the musk of death still lingering and blood already black on the walls.

Where was he? He remembered she said-

Frankfurt.

He shot up, finding himself on the coach in a blood-splattered office. A cold corpse of was half sprawled over the desk, head pinned to the wooden surface by a fire poker through one temple and out the other, papers strewn all over the place in a struggle that no doubt lasted for less than a second. She was efficient that way.

Lukas picked himself up from the couch, stretching out his limbs, then grimaced when he caught sight of blood stains on his sleeves, with more on his back, he was sure. She was wonderful in her work, but did she have to make it so _messy_?

At that moment, two sharp knocks sounded on the office door, a woman's voice calling something in German. Lukas did not understand German, but it didn't matter. He patted his pockets, then cursed mentally when he realized that there was nothing on him save for a scrap piece of paper with the words _'Good Luck'_ scribbled onto it, a smiley face crudely drawn beside it. Sighing in annoyance, he stuffed the note back into his pocket.

Another great big joke and twisted game of hers, it seems to be.

The woman outside was calling again. _"Herr? Bist du da? Herr?"_

With a sharp tug, the fire poker squelched off the man's skull, cold gore clinging onto the black metal.

The doorknob turned, and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges, the woman's jaw dropping when she realized what was behind the door. But then he was there, she hadn't even noticed him next to the blood and reeking death, and with a simple thrust, the fire poker stabbed straight into her mouth and through her throat, cracking against her spine. She screamed then, as she fell, blood gushing onto the brown carpets covering the building's floors.

He glanced out the closest window, and found himself much too far from the ground. The building had to be at least fifteen stories tall.

He gave another sigh, no obvious expression on his face other than boredom and slight exasperation. Fifteen stories up with nothing but a fire poker to protect him against assassins and guards armed with weapons of every kind. Not too bad.

Investigating footsteps rushed up from the stairs, the elevator dinged at its arrival.

Not too bad at all.

Bodies were falling, blood was spraying before they even realized that he was there. The elevator was empty of life and the door was closing before the people who had taken the stairs arrived in the hall.

Lukas stepped on corpses of men and women, blood soaking into his black sneakers as he waited for the little box to arrive at the first floor. He examined the creases on the clothes of the slaughtered people, and lifted the end of a jacket to discover two pistols strapped to the belt.

Not bad at all.

Nodding in approval, he freed the guns, just as the elevator chimed again, this time at the fifth floor.

Not ideal, but good enough.

The door slid open, and the people outside the elevator balked at the sight of Lukas, perched atop a mountain of the corpses of their colleagues.

Lukas blinked, lifted a gun, and fired.

Pandemonium erupted. He launched himself out the elevator and into a wide hall with over a dozen men fumbling with their weapons even as he unleashed himself upon them. How foolish and amateur. Shots through the head, the throat, the heart, and Lukas couldn't help but wonder at the sheer easiness of it all. Death must be passing by today.

He was on the third floor now, lesser and lesser people now that everyone was filling into the six elevators around the building and was shooting up towards the top floor where they'd find their director and boss cold and stiff in his office. What a surprise it'd be for them.

Second floor, and a woman was screaming at the sight of him, like a white ghost splattered with dark stains of crimson. She was dead before he realized that it might not have truly necessary to kill her, but he didn't feel guilty. They were all bastards, through and through.

At least, that's what they kept telling and reminding him. That was what he kept telling and reminding himself.

The first floor lobby was empty save for an old woman scrubbing on the floors with a mop, humming quietly to herself. She did not hear his soft footsteps until he was nearly in front of her, and it was just one crack, one jolting backlash of the gun, and it was over and he was finished.

Leave no witnesses, he reminded himself. No one.

He dropped the gun, clapping his hands as if trying to shake off the blood soaking into his skin, and strolled casually out the front door of the building.

She was waiting.

"Ten minutes," she told him as she handed him a jacket and gloves, along with a pair of boots. "Not too bad."

He changed his shoes first, throwing his soiled sneakers back into the building. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Her confirmation came as the form of a little black box with a small red button in the middle its shiny black surface. He nodded, and threw on the jacket and gloves.

"Let's go." His words were clipped and short, but she only shrugged, hooking an arm around his elbow and gently steering him out onto the streets. They took several turns before she revealed the device again, this time holding it out to him.

"Do you want to do the honors?"

He shook his head, and she shrugged again. "Very well, then." And then she casually pressed the red button, as if it was not connected -

The ground shook, an explosion sounding not far from the distance, cries of alarm and panic rising on the streets as a fire erupted, engulfing and collapsing a fifteen-story building filled with people, dead and alive.

-to a bomb planted inside the Underworld base located in the city of Frankfurt.

She flipped her brown curls over her shoulder, then tossed the little black device into the nearest trashcan, not caring about the evidence it could be leaving behind. Not caring, because it was an Underworld product weaseled out from Antonio's stash, and it would self-destruct ten minutes later. A burning trashcan after an exploded building was suspicious, but it wouldn't be giving anyone anything unless they could wind back time.

She flashed him a charming smile, and tugged at his arm again. Lukas glanced back for a moment, watching the smoke rise into the blue sky, then shrugged.

And allowed Magyar to lead him through the German city as hell began to crumble beneath his feet.

* * *

 **Welcome to Finding Mathias, where everything (quite literally) goes to hell! As usual, updates are inconstant, but I'll try to keep the stone rolling.**

 **A few things before we start:**

 **-This story starts off as a darker, twisted, Hetalian version of Finding Dory, and ends as a dark, twisted, Hetalian version of Sleeping Beauty. I don't know how, or why. It just happened.**

 **-Yes, DenNor will exist here, but it's not the main focus, sorry about that.**

 **-Any questions will be answered further into the plot.**

 **-And... ehh... I forgot. If anything comes up, I'll get it up.**

 **Please review!**


	2. Dreams by the Sea

**Chapter One**

The battlefield was not a place for children, and yet for some reason, they were all he could see. There were adults, of course, but they were scattered leaders shouting commands to everyone else. Everyone else – all of whom were children.

He felt an ache in his heart, something akin to bitterness, even though he knew he was not in the position to judge. Yes, they called him a prodigy, a legend, and he was respected throughout the army, even amongst the adults where he stood with authority next to. But past the status and the respect and everything that made him stand above everyone else, was the tragic truth:

Mathias Køhler was thirteen years old, and he was standing on a battlefield.

It was peaceful at the moment. No gunshots, no battle cries, no screams and deaths and everything that made war so horrifying. It was one of the few moments when the soldiers returned to just being naïve kids and all they needed to worry about was how they were going to win the chess game sitting in front of them, or tic-tac-toe, or hangman, or whatever else they were doing.

And Mathias, not too far away…

"We're going to get caught," Tino whispered, nervously glancing over his shoulder every few seconds in case one of the adults decided to come patrolling by. "This isn't right."

"That's why it's fun," Mathias retorted, also in a whisper. He nudged the other boy sitting next to him where the three boys huddled around three small cups and a suspicious looking bottle. "Right, Berwald?"

Berwald shrugged, nonchalant expression breaking momentarily to offer a reassuring smile to Tino. "It w'n't k'll us," he told him gently.

"That's not what I'm worried about," the smaller blonde grumbled.

Mathias grinned, and nudged Tino. "Come on, it's just one shot anyways. It'd be fun!"

"Until we get caught."

Mathias rolled his eyes and ignored his friend. "It's not like we're doing smoking heroin or anything. It's just a drink. Just one cup. It's not going to kill us." He picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cork with a quiet pop, picking up Berwald's small paper cup and beginning to pour.

"They might." Tino was absolutely miserable with the idea of being caught drinking an alcoholic drink stolen from the wine cabinets that only the adults had licit access to.

Mathias was unimpressed, continuing to fill Tino's cup, then his own. He stuffed the cork back into the mouth of the bottle, placed it gently on the wooden floorboards, and lifted his cup. Berwald and Tino copied him, the latter a bit more reluctantly.

He began, "Once upon a time, a young boy came running through the streets, crying, _'The sky is falling! The sky is falling!'_ He had not lied, and panic began to arise in the streets as many people tried to escape the crumbling dome – to no avail. Others, mesmerized, watched the end of the world as they knew it, wondering how it came to this. But only one person knew, and it was the boy who had delivered the warning, for it was he who had toppled the pillars holding up and guarding the sky, and as it crumbled and fell to the earth, heaven fell with it. And thus, hell was created."

Mathias took a deep breath, then said, "This hell that we live in does not deserve the loyalty we had given it. It has caused us too much pain, too much loss, too much destruction, and we need to end it."

"We're just three teenagers," Tino interrupted, but Mathias was calm.

"Not just three teenagers, Tino. We are three hungry, confused, emotional, slightly dorky – if not nerdy – teenagers." He grinned. "But never forget, we are also one assassin, one bomb expert and sniper, and one awesome genius who can do anything he puts his mind to. We're not helpless, because we were born in paradise, but lived through the Fall and is perfectly cut to bring down hell. And that is what we're going to do."

Tino smiled, only a little bit comforted, while Mathias continued, "Do you know what I want? I don't want to be normal, I don't want power; I don't want to live for nothing, doing nothing, achieving nothing. What I want… is justice." He lowered his head. "I want to go back home to where it was considered 'the hidden paradise', and not to an empty imitation of what it used to be. Simple-minded of me, yes, I know, but we're children and that's how we're supposed to be." He took a heavy breath, lifting his cup even higher. "I want to shatter hell and rebuild the pillars and replace the sky to its rightful place."

Berwald was showing a rare smile, and he was the first to say, "To paradise." And then he downed the contents of his cup.

Tino sighed, but he was smiling as well. His cup was already next to his lips. "To justice."

And Mathias was grinning, raising his paper cup up over his head as he declared in a near shout that caught the attention of half the children and several adults in the room, much to Tino's chagrin. But it didn't matter, because he wasn't just making the promise to them, or to himself. He was making the promise to the earth, to the sky, to everyone in this world who stood on the edge of this gaping abyss.

"To victory!"

* * *

 _So much for victory,_ Mathias thought bitterly. He was lucky to even be alive. Running, yes, but that was better than dead. There weren't many things _worse_ than death, but he knew that if he got captured, what awaited him would be one of them.

Though his current situation was bad enough as it was.

Winter in Russia was never kind, but he thought he'd be at least a little bit prepared after growing up in northern Europe.

He wasn't.

Wind ripped at him from every side like thin blades burrowing beneath his clothes and skin. Crystals clung to his lashes, his cheeks were numb with frostbite and his nose and ears felt like they were going to drop off any moment.

He wondered how long he had been struggling in the cruel Siberian desert. There was nothing in sight other than a yard of frozen, snow-packed dirt all around him before everything else was lost in the white flurry of a mild blizzard. Once in a while he would stumble across a thin, sickly tree that did nothing to announced life to him.

His feet ached after hours of walking, though his toes were stiff and numb, no doubt frostbitten as well. The idea of losing his toes or fingers – or ears or nose, for that matter – terrified him, but there was nothing he could do when his unfeeling feet stumbled over a rock and brought him to his knees.

The legendary Viking, brought down by nothing and no one but one little stone! How cruel of fate, how humiliating.

He found that he could no longer stand. His legs were too stiff, and his arms too weak. He tried to hoist himself up, but his limbs buckled and he felt the air knocked out from his lungs as he slammed onto the frozen snow. He was going to die here, on the ground, in the middle of goddamn Russia. He was going to be buried by the snow and ice, and if he was lucky, somebody would find his body a thousand years later, mummified by the ice and snow, and he'd become a historical tool. That was just another way to get famous, though not one he preferred.

And he couldn't afford one thousand years. Tino and Berwald promised to wait, but one thousand years was stretching it. One year was the official deal. If he didn't make it to the New World in one year, he was considered a dead man.

Though it seemed like he'd be long dead before that.

Now that he had stopped moving, the coldness was beginning to seep in. His mind felt befuddled, his brain was a mere dead lump of muscle, his thoughts seemed to be waddling through syrup. What little was left of his energy reserve was sucked away from him, and he felt completely, utterly exposed to the cruelty of Mother Nature. He should file a case for child abuse: was fifteen years too old?

His eyelids were just about to flutter close when he caught sight of something bouncing in the distance. Or bobbing, more like, a little fuzzy pinpoint of warm yellow hovering in the white blankness. Was he starting to hallucinate as well? Does hypothermia do that?

After a while of watching the little spot bounce and grow larger, he decided that yes, it probably did. The fuzzy yellow sphere looked suspiciously like light, and light meant people and there couldn't possibly be anyone in the middle of a Siberian blizzard. Mathias couldn't be that lucky. Or unlucky, depending on whom the person was.

He was seriously feeling drowsy now: only the bobbing yellow light kept his eyes focused and barely open. It was a hallucination, but if it was keeping him alive for a bit longer, he didn't mind.

Then he heard a crack of ice breaking under boots, felt the tremors on the ground with each footstep. The yellow light was hovering over him now, trapped in a little cage – a lamp? Somebody was saying something, but it was a mishmash of words he wouldn't understand and couldn't hear. Firm hands grabbed his shoulder, and he felt himself being shifted onto his back, air entering his lungs more easily now that his bodyweight pressure wasn't on his ribs.

Except he couldn't resist the lure of sleep any longer; his eyes struggled to stay open, but he was fighting a losing battle, as he had always been. Against life, against death, it had always been a losing battle. He was never destined to win.

A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye, and it froze immediately.

The last thing he saw was the sweet face of a woman framed by thick gray fur, short blonde hair peeking out from the hood, lips moving as she desperately called something to him, pale blue eyes brimming with tears of worry.

And then blackness, and warmth, and life.

* * *

"Hello, my name is Mathias Køhler, and I'm looking for somebody. Can you help me?" He tried his most charming smile, praying that it would work.

It did.

"Of course, dear; I'll see what I can do. Who are you looking for?"

"Well-" The smile slipped off, his brows furrowing as he struggled to remember. Two people. He was supposed to meet up with- "I… I don't remember…"

"That's too bad. Do tell when you remember."

Maybe it was only one person. That's right. It's strange to be meeting two people when he's alone. If he was one person, he should be meeting up with one person… right?

Something didn't feel right. One half of his mind was nodding in agreement, while the other was screaming and cursing and raging because he _couldn't-_

"Excuse me, sir, where are we?"

"This is Boston, silly boy. Did you arrive here drunk?"

He didn't know, but something felt wrong, as it had always been since he left the-

 _Where?_

Boston… was that in the New World?

…What was the New World?

He could feel a headache seeping in, but he gritted his teeth against it. He had things to do, places to go, people to find.

 _What? Where? Who?_

Who?

He felt his knees buckle, and he leaned against a nearby wall by the street for support. He had to… He had to win, had to find, had to create, had to-

 _Run._

His muscles tensed, but his heels dug into the concrete sidewalk, back pressing against the brick wall. His eyes snapped up to the road, and he watched, strangely mesmerized, as a gleaming white truck rolled leisurely down the street. It was a well-kept vehicle, almost fashionable despite its bulk. The windows were tinted dark, the walls smooth and clean save for three letters printed in thick black ink:

 **UDW**

Mathias watched with wide, curious eyes as it turned and disappeared around the corner. He found himself pushing away from the wall, his weary feet leading him to the intersection. But when he peeked cautiously around the, the truck was gone.

Frowning, he retreated a few steps. Maybe he forgot again and the truck had gone the other way. He didn't remember, but that wasn't a first. Forgetfulness was a hungry black hole gobbling up images and words and too many things and everything so that he felt like he was about to burst from emptiness.

Turning around, Mathias sped down the other way, where the truck must have gone. He skidded around a corner, eyes searching for- _"Oof!"_

Mathias blinked, confused. What had he been doing? He heard somebody groan, and looked down to find someone fallen onto the ground and clutching his abdomen. It was a boy possibly a year younger than him, with hair the color of silvery gold and soft, almost feminine features. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, the color of peaceful seas, but etched across his face was pain. He must have been the person who had none-too-softly slammed into him just now.

He stared for another second, taking in the slender limbs and milky skin, the cross-shaped pin holding back soft, silky strands. The word _'beautiful'_ crossed his mind, and it brought forth a wave of excitement. It was like fate: it was difficult to believe that someone so _beautiful_ had just knocked into him-

He had just-

And then, the panic rolled in because where were his manners the most beautiful boy he had ever seen in the short five seconds of his life that he remembered had just slammed into him and was now in pain and was he really just staring at him like an idiot?

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed. "I was running and you appeared out of nowhere and I couldn't stop and I'm so sorry and you _can't_ die! Are you dead? Please don't die! I don't know what I'll do if you died!" Because beautiful people simply did not deserve to die!

But then the boy looked up at him with the most disdainful expression, and Mathias felt his smile droop a bit. What was it? Did he smell? Was his hair gel not working? Were his clothes too ugly? Oh, this was bad. But Mathias wasn't about to give up:

"Thank God, you're not dead!" That was meant to be a compliment, but it sounded a bit off. Now to be a gentleman… "Can you stand? I'll help you! Where are you going? I'll help you! Are you okay? I'll help you!"

The boy flinched, that judging expression not yet leaving, and Mathias suddenly realized why: he hadn't introduced himself yet!

He grabbed the beautiful boy's hand, pulling him graciously to his feet, and shook it enthusiastically with his best smile, sure that this would help them reach better terms. "By the way, very nice to meet you. My name is Mathias!"

The boy's face was blank now, porcelain skin smooth, dark eyes shrouded and mysterious, small, pale lips tilted ever so slightly downwards. He flicked a few stray strands of his pale golden hair out of his face, then answered softly, almost shyly, "My name is-"

 _"Why did you save my life?"_

 _She was beautiful, untouchable, and there was such kindness and sadness in her pale eyes. "What else was I supposed to do?" Her hands were surprisingly calloused, like his, but they were also gentle and careful. "And it's not like I regret it."_

 _"…does this symbol mean?"_

 _"-the fallen, the dead, the abandoned… abandoned by heaven."_

 _"Who are they?"_

 _"They're here for me, but I promise they won't hurt you… and I'm sorry."_

 _He was wrong. They didn't care about their own; all they cared was that he stood there, determined, with a willing shield of flesh, and death was something that could sweep away everything but him._

 ** _"IRINA!"_**

 _She did not scream, but tears of pain and betrayal slid down her cheeks, and he felt the backlash of the gun when he ended her suffering. One bullet in the head, merciful compared to the dozens drilled into her flesh. And all he could see was blood – her blood, her torn flesh, her blue lips, her lifeless eyes, washed pale with tears._

 _She had not screamed, but someone else was roaring and wanted him dead because-_

 _"You killed my_ sister _!"_

 _His hands were bound but his lips were not, and he was raging against them, against himself, against the world. "And she was my-"_

"-Lukas." He must've made an expression of confusion, because the beautiful boy huffed, and repeated, "My name is Lukas."

"Lukas." He tasted the word in his mouth, and found it sweet and luring. "Nice to meet-"

 ** _"MATHIAS!"_**

 _Stolen kisses between shared breaths, blood rippling on the floor with corpses piled sky high but it didn't matter because the dead was gone and all that existed now and then was the two of them, the panting, lustful gasps, and breathless whisper of his name beside his ear, bodies fitting snugly and warmly in the cold, dead world-_

 _"-_ What _did you **do** to him?!"_

 _His skin was still warm but his lips were blue, golden strands of hair dry and brittle, skin drained of color into a pale wax doll, heart convulsing and dying and blood flowing to a stop that seemed to flick a switch and he wasn't breathing. All the while he found himself screaming, shaking the body that was no more than a beautiful corpse and he was screaming, weeping, he couldn't think as painful, truthful words overrode his senses because-_

Dead.

He was dead.

He was dead and death was nothing to a killer but another blown out candle but it was _him_ and he was _-_

 ** _"LUKAS!"_**

 _-dead._

* * *

 **Hi! The actual plot starts next chapter. This is more of a foreshadowing of a dozen chapters and a book ahead. Hehe.**

 **Thank you for reading! Please review!**


	3. Alone

**Chapter Two**

Mathias's eyes snapped open, chest heaving as he desperately drew in gasp after gasp of cool night air. He stared at nothing but darkness, a single sliver of pale light that warped every time the curtains fluttered from the breeze blowing in through the open window. A thin layer of sweat coated his body, skin sticky and hair damp. His blankets were tangled between his legs, and Mathias slowly crawled off the sofa of the tiny apartment, mind still numb and reeling from-

 _What?_

It must've been a dream, he concluded. He had been sleeping, so if he woke suddenly, it had probably been a nightmare, and thankfully not one that he remembered. Not like he remembered much in the first place.

There was no sound save for the quick streak of a lone car at midnight, a few voices talking, and paper rustling in the next room. Mathias stared at the strip of yellow light peeking from beneath Lukas's door, and made up his mind.

Lukas was so intent on his studying that, for once, he did not notice Mathias creeping in. The small room had no table, so his bed and floor were strewn with papers and books, the teenager perched on his pillow as he trudged through page after page of school work. There was an intense look of concentration on his face, his normally lack of expression broken by furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Pencil scraped against paper as Lukas scratched down an answer onto the workbook in his lap, then cross-referencing with an open textbook nearby. He uttered a small sigh of frustration, crossing out what he had previously written and replacing it with a new answer.

Just when Lukas was about to flip the page, somebody flopped onto his bed, the mattress sinking and bouncing back like a trampoline as his books and notes-

 _No-!_

"Mathias!" he nearly growled, the tall blonde grinning up at him from where he laid, paper crumbling beneath him.

"Watcha looking at, Lukas?"

"Stuff you won't understand," he replied coldly.

It was too late for Lukas to be dealing with this imbecile. He needed his coffee, and he needed to finish the rest of his workbook (only 38 more pages to go, if he remembered correctly), and he needed to sleep before six so he could have at least three hours of rest before school and oh God help him why was high school so goddamn _difficult_?

Mathias snatched the book out of his hands anyway, skimming through the page until his eyes brightened at the mention of: "Black market or illegal activities increase with the imposition of price controls in markets. Black markets: a) improve the situation of all participants in the price-controlled market; b) worsen the situation for those people who obey the rules imposed by the government; c) have little or no real impact- okay, yeah, no." He sat up, staring disgustedly at the book, tossed it aside, and picked up another to read. "Eutrophication in lakes results from: a) an increase in ambient temperatures; b) a decrease in temperatures; c) an increase in carbon dioxide- what the hell is carbon dioxide? No, what's ambient? No, what the fuck is _eutrophication_? No, even better: what in the fucking name of God is _this thing_?"

"Stuff you won't understand," Lukas repeated.

Mathias shifted, crumbling more papers under his bottom, and twisted around to throw a heavy arm around Lukas's shoulders. "You're working too hard, Lukas. Take a rest!"

"I have SATs." He did _not_ have time to rest.

The taller blonde frowned. "What're SATs? Can't be more important than sleep, right?"

"What are you doing here?" Lukas decided to change the topic. "Why aren't you resting?"

"I don't know!" Mathias answered cheerfully. "But I'm awake now, and you're awake too, but you're tired, so let's go to sleep!"

"Get out."

Mathias stuck out his tongue at him, then hopped out of the bed, stacking up the books and loose sheets into a messy pile before unceremoniously dumping everything onto the floor. He flopped back down onto the bed, not minding Lukas's icy stare, settling down with the blankets flung out of the way and the only pillow occupied by an irritated teenager.

"Beds are comfortable," he commented. "When can I get my own bed? I don't like the couch. Can I sleep on your bed?"

"No."

"Luuukaaassss."

"Get out." And then, quite suddenly, Mathias reached up, grabbing Lukas around the shoulders, and tugging him down face first into the mattress. After a moment of struggling, Lukas pried himself from Mathias's hold, sitting back up with a frown etched across his face as he smoothed back his hair. "Seriously, stop it."

But the taller boy had kicked back and relaxed, almost sinking through the mattress as his body deflated with a shuddering sigh of contentment. Mathias's eyes were closed, and he was smiling as he murmured, "Come on, Lukas, rest. It's just one night. You've been working so hard, you deserved it."

It took some convincing, but finally, both teenagers were sprawled out across the small bed, eyes struggling to stay open.

"I still need to shower," mumbled Lukas.

"Do it in the morning," Mathias replied around a yawn.

"Get out of my bed."

"I'll get out in the morning."

And after a week of less than four hours of sleep every day, Lukas finally allowed himself to rest at a more humane time, SATs be damned.

And if Mathias remembered the fact, he'd probably be even smugger when morning comes to greet a day that crumbled into nothing – again.

* * *

Five months had passed since Alfred's plane touched down in New York City and left again for errands and destinations. The six people who were left staring at the tiny speck in the distance took two separate cabs to bring them home, and ever since then, Lukas thought he was finally, truly free from the Underworld, with Mathias as the weak, final tie that he simply couldn't cut off. The Bad Touch Trio bade them farewell when they piled into the different taxis, and the last time he caught a glimpse of them was in the grocery store three months ago, where Francis and Antonio had waved at him from behind a cart piled sky high with vegetables, meat, eggs, beer, cooking supplies, eating utensils, beer, a bottle of milk, several boxes of snacks, beer, tooth pastes, toothbrushes, towels, bottles of water, and beer.

Lukas's grades had taken a minor hit after their little adventure, but it had not worried him as much as when Emil's teacher, Ms. Héderváry, marched up to him on the day they returned to school with a cross and worried expression, demanding to know where they've been in the two weeks of unexcused absence. She had nearly torn him apart with a vicious scolding about responsibility and tact, which might have been _slightly_ better if Emil hadn't been watching on the side, struggling to hide a smirk. But one thing for sure: Ms. Héderváry was _terrifying_. After he had apologized profusely and was forgiven, life reverted to its original pace, with one new addition: Mathias Køhler, which, to this day, Lukas couldn't determine as a blessing or a curse.

How to describe Mathias Køhler?

He was caring, funny, goofy, warm, proud, oblivious, foolish, ridiculous, blind, stupid, loud, annoying, insufferable, and completely and utterly nuts.

And now that Lukas thought back for a moment, that train of thought had gone downhill pretty fast.

Not like there was anything he could do about it. Mathias was taking up their couch, and their money, and their time, and their food, and his coffee, and-

Why was it so goddamn difficult to stay positive?

Maybe because his SATs were literally looming over him, gaining on him with less than two weeks. Or maybe because Mathias's craziness had finally gotten to him and he had developed, oh he had no idea, bipolar disorder? It may also be the fact that when Lukas woke up the next morning with Mathias latched onto him like a leech, bed surrounded by a mountain of papers and books, he remembered that Emil was having _another_ godforsaken _field trip_ of all things, because it was Middle School and apparently, that's what they did. They were going to some amusement park this time – _not_ in New York – but Lukas was still reluctant. Rightfully so, considering what had happened _last time_ Emil told him they were going on a field trip. Then, in addition to that, Lukas remembered that he had signed up for the study group after school, which meant he wouldn't be able to pick Emil up after the field trip (which was already grating loudly on his nerves) and just what was he thinking when he jotted his name down?

Considering the fact that he had just only remembered that he had signed up last week when a classmate of his texted him as a reminder, he hadn't.

But what was done was done, and he wasn't planning on bailing out anytime soon, because as much as he cared for his brother… his _grades_.

However, that meant that the only not-grade-damaging, not-very-reassuring, and relatively-probably-not-safe alternative was:

"Mathias." He bemoaned having to say it over a wonderfully warm, comforting cup of coffee: breakfast was for relaxation before the hell ahead, _not_ for alarming announcements he would likely regret. "Mathias," he repeated, a little louder, so the blonde shoveling eggs into his mouth like a madman can hear him through the stupidity clogging up his ears.

Mathias looked up, bright blue eyes wide and too happy for a dreadful morning.

"I need you to do me a favor."

Emil's eyebrows shot up past his hairline as he watched the two older boys from the corner of his eye while he leisurely sipped on a glass of milk.

Mathias, unsurprisingly, looked a mixture of astonishment and emotional, and seemed to be tearing up. "Lukas!" he exclaimed when he had swallowed the food in his mouth. "You've finally decided to trust me!"

"You wouldn't have remembered even if I trusted you before," Lukas deadpanned, then continued before the other blonde could reply, "I need you to pick up Emil afterschool today."

A glass thudded on the wooden surface of the coffee table. "I can walk home by myself fine, thank you very much."

"Sure!" Thankfully, Mathias was louder and faster, his cheerful shout covering Emil's annoyance.

"I'm not a baby-"

"School ends at four thirty?"

"Two thirty."

"I'm not helpless-"

"Eh, close enough."

"Two hours."

"Listen, I don't need you guys staring at my back-"

"It's only two hours!"

"Two minutes late and when I find you, I will cut out your tongue. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

And all Emil could do was sigh. He decided to shift the topic a bit. "So, what caused your sudden dependency on the brainless idiot?"

"Hey!"

"The brainless idiocy might have infected me, and out of brainlessness I signed up for a study group after school, so I won't be able to pick you up."

"I can walk home by myself," Emil grumbled, but was ignored.

"The study group might take some time, so I thought that it'd be nice if we rendezvous at the café. I'll give you some money, you guys can order something, and when we meet up again we can relocate to a restaurant for dinner."

"Dinner outside?" Emil blinked. That… was a pleasant turn of events.

Lukas shrugged. "Why not."

Mathias grinned, then slapped Emil on the back, making him tip forward and choke on his milk. "I'll be picking you up then, Emmy!"

"Don't call me that!"

Lukas smiled softly, a silent chuckle escaping as a small huff of air. "Eat quickly, Emil. Can't be late for school."

"Yes, mom."

The older brother then scowled, but it was mild and light-hearted. "Mathias, don't you dare forget."

"Yes, mom."

Lukas rolled his eyes, then retreated to his room to pack up. He reemerged with his bulging backpack, and Emil stuffed the last of his toast into his mouth before rushing to get his own.

"Two-thirty sharp, Mathias Køhler," the shorter blonde reminded the other sternly.

"What?" An expression of bafflement cannot get more irritating than this. "Oh!"

"Oh," repeated Lukas drily. "Two-thirty, meet at café."

"Two-thirty, meet at café."

"Don't forget."

"Two-thirty, meet at café."

"It's a deal then." Lukas pulled on his shoes and opened the door, Emil exiting with a casual, almost dismissive wave.

Mathias nodded, chest suddenly feeling strangely hollow as something in his mind thrashed once before stilling in an uneasy silence. Lukas was staring at him, and he nodded again, to reassure himself as he swallowed. "Deal."

The door swung shut, and Mathias found himself alone once more.

* * *

 **A writer's block in the second chapter of the story is not a good way to start off.**

 **Just like Finding Emil, the story starts off slow, and continues to be slow until it decides to speed up.**

 **I'll be flying to China tomorrow, then back to Japan, and we'll be staying there for about a month, I think. I won't be bringing my computer, but I have the planning in my iPad, so although I will keep writing, updates will be uneven throughout the summer vacation, sorry about that.**

 **Min Tvillingbror: I'm sorry, I got a little confused about the em dash, en dash, and hyphen thing. I understand your explanation, and I don't want to sound offensive or anything, but what was the point? Did you want me to use it or...? I'm really sorry, I was just slightly unsure about what you meant. Please do elaborate, thank you.**

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Heartbeats

**Chapter Three**

 _Two-thirty, meet at café. Two thirty, meet at café…_

Mathias had started off repeating this under his breath, until his lips became parched dry and uncomfortable, and he resolved to repeating it in his mind as he finished drying the dishes.

 _Two-thirty, meet at café. Two-forty, meet at café-_

No.

 _Two-_ thirty _, meet at café_ , he corrected himself, almost smashing the last plate out of frustration. He dried his hands and wandered out the tiny kitchen, beholding the empty, quiet apartment.

One door on the left, leading to an empty third-floor hallway with a rickety elevator and worn metal stairs; two plain doors on the right, small bedrooms hidden behind the layer of wood. The living room consisted of a thin brown rug over white tiles, a few pillows strewn on the ground, acting as chairs around the coffee/homework/dining table. There was a thin blanket crumpled on the small couch that was too short for Mathias to sleep in, although he should be used to it by now.

 _Two-thirty, meet at café. Two-thirty…_ do what?

What was he supposed to do at two-thirty exactly again?

It wasn't even noon yet, and he could barely remember. Teeth gritting and heart pumping, Mathias rushed to Lukas's room and grabbed a pen and a sticky note, scrawling down, _'Two-thirty, meet at café.'_ There was a blank between the time and the phrase, which Mathias filled in slowly and hesitantly after pondering for some time, _'Pick up Emil'._ That should be right. It sounded right.

The sticky note went smack in the middle of the coffee table so he could glance at it every few minutes as he slumped down on the couch and wondered what to do for the rest of the day. The apartment had no television and, other than Lukas's strange books, essentially no other source of entertainment. He wasn't sure how he survived the past few months, but he was certain that he was probably going to die of boredom today.

He was also quite certain that he had been thinking the same thing every day for the past few months.

Mathias groaned, an arm thrown over his eyes as he sank further into the couch. There had to be _something_ he could do before-

His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring down at the sticky note. _Two-thirty, pick up Emil, meet at café._ That's right. He's still got something on his plate today.

Mathias relaxed, and he found himself staring at the clock, every second passing by too slowly for his liking. For a long stretch of silence, the world dissolved into nothing but him and the ticking clock.

One heartbeat: two seconds.

One breath: four seconds: two heartbeats.

It became a never ending pattern; the steady life of his body in sync with the fine machinery of a small clock.

 _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick-_

The sound was growing gradually louder, each click echoing beside his ears, like the blood roaring in his ears, like gunshots.

There was silence.

The air was quivering with tension, muscles stiff and entire body on an edge before the beginning of the slaughter.

The first sign came as a scream, a spray of crimson into the air.

And then everything was just a cacophony of roaring, of death, of relentless, desperate gunshots.

 _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Like the steady, rhythmic hunt of a sniper.

Inhale – one shot, reload: one heartbeat; one death – exhale.

The never ending fire that fueled the war, even as they ran out of things to fight about.

 _Tick. Tock._

Silence. The same silence as before: tense, waiting, before exploding.

His ears popped, screams erupted anew. But one word reached him over the other pleading voices: _"RUN!"_

He was running, but they weren't running with him. Why weren't they coming? As long as they stayed together, they could do anything, couldn't they?

 _"One year, in the New World!"_ He was the one shouting the words, and a foreign voice that sounded so familiar spoke for two people that had meant his world before it crumbled. A broken smile, hopeless and forced, accompanied by a weak, waving hand clad in worn black gloves, the tip of the index finger worn from rubbing against the trigger of a rifle.

The answer came as tumbling letters down a black hole of ice and nothingness that was groped at by tendrils of fire. _"Deal!"_

Mathias's eyes snapped open, and he was alone with words clawing at his thoughts. No, not words, he realized when he recalled the vagueness and echoes that seemed too material. Memories.

He had made a deal with somebody. He had a meeting, in the New World. What was the New World?

Mathias blinked, mind churning as he subconsciously grabbed the sticky note and a pen and added, _'New-'_

Maybe it wasn't the New World. He probably remembered something wrong: he always did, unless he forgot it completely.

 _New…_ What place starts with 'New'? The answer popped into his head immediately: New York.

Mouth splitting into a grin, he finished writing the name, reading over everything on his bucket list for the day. New York was an unexpected addition, but since Lukas seemed to be quite generous today, Mathias was sure that he'll let them go to the city after some arguing and bargaining.

At that moment, his stomach grumbled, and he realized with a jolt that it was an hour past noon. Upon opening the fridge, he realized just how pitiful their food stock was, so he decided to simply snack on some fruits hidden at the back, and began to review his list while munching on a sickening sweet piece of pineapple.

"Two-thirty, pick up Emil, meet at café. New York," he muttered. Then glancing at the clock: 1:26, he shrugged. "Screw it."

So he licked the syrup from his fingers, wiped his hand on his shirt, threw on his shoes, and went to find Emil's school.

Lukas probably showed him before, and Mathias had a vague idea of where it was, but he wasn't quite sure. He had time, so he simply decided to wander, glancing down every few moments at the note in his hand. When he looked up, the red-brown building struck a chord in his mind, but it took searching and reading a sign to realize that he had already, unconsciously, found Emil's school. The café turned out to be conveniently just around the corner, and that was where Mathias found himself waiting for the final hour to tick by. He nearly fell asleep, which was why Emil was the one waiting for him at the school gate, not the other way around, unimpressed and impatient at 2: 50.

"Lukas is going to cut out your tongue," said Emil by way of greeting.

"No, he won't!" replied Mathias cheerfully, brandishing his sticky note like the formidable weapon it was. "I won't let him! I've got plans!"

Emil, passive as ever, noticed the two words _'New York_ ', and nodded in confirmation. This was a dead man standing before him.

"See, I've got to New York," Mathias began to explain when he noticed the younger boy staring at his note. "I've got a meeting with these people, and I just remembered."

"You. Remembered."

"Yes."

Emil was still not convinced, since he had known for a long time that there was something wrong with Mathias's head other than his memory problem. But all the same, he decided to play along, because it was a Thursday and he didn't understand why it wasn't Friday yet. "Fine. Who are you meeting up with?"

At this, Mathias frowned, his nose wrinkling as if he had smelt something awful but couldn't get it out from under his nose. "I… can't remember, but I'm sure I'll know when I get there." Then his grin broke out again, because, of course, the forgetful teen couldn't keep a worry in his head for more than five seconds.

The café must have been significantly more crowded than before, because Mathias couldn't find a seat immediately after entering, and it was louder. But that's okay! Because Emil led him to a circular table in a corner, and they sat, ordered, and waited.

Mathias wondered why Emil kept looking at him like he was crazy – more so than usual.

He also wondered why he constantly looked like he was about to laugh. Even when the younger boy got out a book to read, he'd steal occasional glances at the taller blonde and then smother a smirk.

Finally, after what felt like a bit more than just a few minutes, Mathias couldn't ignore it anymore and demanded, "What?"

But Emil just shook his head, and smiled. He flipped a page, eyes bearing into the words, slurped his milkshake, and basically announced the end of all conversations between them in the café.

Lukas entered the café at four ten sharp, ordered a coffee, and sat down one minute later with a groan. Emil closed his book with a snap and looked to his brother with a strange expression, although his question was relatively normal, if uncharacteristically concerned. "How was the study group?"

"Unfortunately helpful," was the grumpy reply, followed by a resigned sigh. Mathias was nearly bouncing in his seat while looking expectant but unsure, words on his lips but tongue still, and there was silence before Emil decided to drop the bomb.

"Mathias wants to go to New York."

Lukas remained silent, impassive, sipping his black coffee and staring straight ahead. The only sign that he heard was a curt nod of acknowledgement and understanding – not agreement. Finally, with both boys staring expectantly at him, Lukas spoke. "Tell me why."

Mathias took over immediately. "I made a deal with somebody to meet at New York City. I don't remember who, or where exactly, but I need to go."

Lukas idly spooned a bit of sugar into his drink and stirred. "When exactly did you make this agreement?"

Mathias withered. "I don't… remember. Just, well… before…"

"We're not going." It was expected. It was a Thursday, after all, and Lukas would never agree to-

"Going where?" A silky, feminine voice sliced into their conversation, and the three boys looked up to find a beautiful woman with brown curls spilling down her back and bright green eyes staring expectantly at them. Her painted-red lips were curved into a splendid smile, aimed especially towards Emil, who was suddenly flustered.

"Ms. Héderváry!"

Lukas made a small, unpleasant sound in the back of his throat that went mostly unnoticed.

"Hello, Emil." Mathias thought Ms. Héderváry really was quite charming, and could not understand Lukas's annoyance. "Lukas, and… who might you be?"

"This is Mathias," Lukas spoke before Mathias realized that she had been talking to him. "He's our cousin, and came over to visit recently."

"Nice to meet you, Mathias," Ms. Héderváry said. "My name is Elizabeta Héderváry; I'm Emil's homeroom teacher."

Mathias put on his best smile and shook the offered hand. "Nice to meet you too, ma'am."

"So, you boys planning a weekend trip of some sort?" The woman's green eyes were bright and expectant, and Lukas felt himself wither a bit inside when his brother opened that cheeky mouth of his and answered, "Yes. We were thinking of paying a visit to New York. Mathias hasn't been there yet."

"New York, huh?" The beautiful smile widened, a bit of white teeth flashing. But that smile slipped again when Ms. Héderváry checked her watch and then glanced out the café's glass doors. "It is quite a nice place. Where are you planning on going in New York City?"

"We're not sure yet," Lukas finally spoke. "That's what we're discussing right now. Do you have any suggestions before your meeting?" Then, facing Ms. Héderváry's surprise, he answered before she could voice it. "You kept checking the time and looking outside. Who are you waiting for?" It was a feeble and obvious attempt to change the subject, but it worked.

Ms. Héderváry gave a small, tinkling laugh, a blush rising suddenly on her smooth complexion. "I'm waiting for my fiancé." And Lukas felt his eyes widening in surprise even though it wasn't really: Ms. Héderváry was young and beautiful with a wonderful personality, but hearing a teacher confess something so personal was still somewhat shocking, not to mention awkward. "He told me to meet him here, so he should be here soon…"

There was a moment of silence before Mathias suddenly realized what 'fiancé' meant and exclaimed, "Congratulations!"

"Thank you." The happiness on Ms. Héderváry's face was quite evident and it made her seem much younger, more approachable than her status of a teacher. "Oh-!" She had caught a glimpse of something – someone – nearing the café. "He's here!"

"Bye, Ms. Héderváry," Emil waved, relieved but hiding it well.

"Goodbye, boys. Have fun in New York. Don't skip school again." The last sentence was firmly directly towards Lukas, who gave her a tight smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."

Then shaking Mathias's hand one more time and patting Emil's silvery-blonde hair, Ms. Héderváry was gone.

"I like your teacher," Mathias commented brightly when the woman, linking her arm with a dark-haired man, disappeared from sight. "I think she likes me too!"

But Emil was one step ahead, and Lukas didn't know if he was messing with him or if he actually wanted to go but, "Are we going to New York or not?"

"I'm pretty sure I already answered that question."

"Ms. Héderváry approves."

"Whether or not she approves makes no difference. We are not going."

"She thinks we're going. What would I tell her on Monday when she asks about the trip?"

"Do enough research and you'll be fine. Consider it homework over the weekend from me."

Emil scowled at his brother, who stared back impassively until Mathias cleared his throat and their attention shifted to him.

His voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Please, Lukas. Just this once. We can go, and we can look for whoever it is who I need to find, and if we don't get anything, we'll come straight back and I'll never mention it again."

"Besides," Emil added, "Now we know that the Underworld base _isn't_ in New York City, which means that it's actually safer than Boston. It really wouldn't hurt to go. And you need a break."

Lukas had been almost convinced until Emil had said that last sentence, and he nearly scoffed. A break? He hadn't had a break since the day their parents died, and he was more than ready to tell them that he hadn't stopped working for ten years already, he didn't need to stop _now_ …

But then… if he didn't take a break – even if it's a small one – now, when was he ever going to take one?

And Mathias had an expression of such hope that Lukas couldn't break – not again – and he felt himself sigh.

"Fine." He knew he was going to regret it later on today, at the latest Friday, but when had his regrets stopped the people around him from dragging him in the messiest situations? "Saturday, we're going to New York City."

And that radiant smile Mathias gave him almost made him believe that everything was going to be fine, even if he hated what was going to happen.

But then again, ever since that day ten years ago, nothing had ever been fine.

* * *

 **Wow, I kind of suck. And not only am I a piece of crap, this chapter is also a piece of crap. Editting it was torture.**

 **Apologies for the late, sucky, and uneventful chapter. I've still not returned to the US which means I'm still typing from my iPad, which is harder than I thought it'd be.**

 **However, despite the overall terribleness, PLEASE REVIEW, because next chapter is when things start to get a _little bit_ more interesting...**


	5. The Trash Can Lid

**Chapter Four**

There was something about New York City in the daytime that always smelled like home. Matthew did not agree to this, but then again, he was Canadian, and only true Americans could comprehend the beauty of the most populous city in the United States of America.

Nothing could possibly ruin this wonderful Saturday, with no illegal trading delivery stuff, and all the pizza and hotdogs and spring sunshine Alfred needed to recoup before the next job comes rolling in and he'll have to leave the love of his life for an undetermined period of time.

Really, he loved his job, but home was home, and nothing was better than home, right?

* * *

Going back to New York City was like coming home after a long vacation abroad and realizing that there had been fish and meat in the fridge _before_ you turned off the electricity flow and now everything was rotten and stinking to the high heavens: An unpleasant, but almost expected, surprise.

After moving to Boston, Lukas had wanted to never go back to this city of too many memories and shadows, but it seemed like what he wanted just wasn't that important. He was half tempted to just turn around and go straight back, but Mathias and Emil wouldn't allow it, evident by the way they stood so close to him, trapping him between their bodies.

New York by itself, if only for sightseeing, was a truly majestic city with its impressive sea of skyscrapers, windows and glass reflecting the sunlight at every angle to make the entire city glow.

Slowly, but progressively, Lukas felt himself begin to relax. It was just a city, like any other in this world, and in the daytime, it was beautiful.

They walked pass a park, then swerved and veered into it when Mathias noticed and begged to go. It wasn't like they had any destination in mind, so Lukas and Emil were willing to just follow a mindless idiot around the city for a day.

Lukas felt his spirits rising as his tension eased, and he thought that perhaps, today would be the day he could actually both physically and mentally deal with a mindless idiot.

That was, however, before _another_ mindless idiot _somehow_ stuffed himself into their little group.

Lukas, Emil, and Mathias met Alfred in the park. He was thrilled to meet them, and very excitedly slapped Mathias on the back, the two idiots giving each other a manly hug despite Mathias not remembering who he was. Alfred's cheerfulness was unhindered by this, and merrily reintroduced himself.

"So, what are you guys doing here in the best city in the world?" This irritating question was accompanied by the tall blonde's booming, obnoxious laughter and perfect American grin.

Mathias replied with that same irritating tone of speaking that only true idiots possessed. "We're- uh…" He squinted at Lukas, who took over with a sigh.

"We're sight-seeing."

Alfred nodded in approval. "Couldn't have picked a better time to come. Where have y'all visited already?"

"We just arrived."

"Great! Awesome!" Uh-oh. "How about I be your guide? New York is my home and I know it better than anyone else. Follow me!"

Mathias grinned, and the two tall blonds marched on side by side, chattering animatedly. Lukas sighed and followed with a very amused Emil, who was in a strangely good mood. He seemed to be snickering under his breath as he watched Alfred and Mathias, the smallest grins pulling the corners of his colorless lips upwards. His dark violet eyes were bright under the large hat he wore to protect himself from the sun, and they wandered, from building to street sign to crowds to street stand.

It was comforting and refreshing to see the young boy look so carefree, his happiness leaking through his stoic masks. His gait was relaxed, no longer bothering to hide his scarred and crooked right arm in a place of too many things to see. His arm had healed in the months after Australia; although it was difficult to set the bones since they were already healing, the gray, wrinkled skin had slowly peeled and was replaced by Emil's pale color. His fingers were mobile, though his wrist remained a bit stiff, and he was able to write with his right hand again after some time. It was ugly to look at, and one of the things Ms. Héderváry had demanded an answer for, but that, along with all the details of their adventure, was one of the things the brothers agreed to never talk about, even to each other.

Lukas felt his own smile blooming and Emil noticed, giving him a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows. The two brothers followed two boisterous blonds, and all was goo-

 _"Just sight-seeing?"_

Lukas was proud to say that he merely jumped at the voice that came from nowhere, taking it better than Emil who gasped sharply and released the beginning to a frightened shriek before hastily choking and stuffing the sound back down his throat.

The soft, feathery voice gave an airy chuckle, and Matthew materialized next to Emil, a gentle smile on his lips. He was hugging that polar bear which, right on cue, asked in its robotic, recorded voice, _"Who are you?"_

"It's Matthew, Kumadango," Alfred's copilot scolded the bear, "Can you please stop forgetting?"

Emil blinked. "Last time you told us he was called Kumaito?"

Matthew paused, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, close enough." And then he turned his smile to Lukas. "So, just sight-seeing?"

"No," he admitted, willing to reveal some not-very-classified information to another sane head. "Mathias said that he had a meeting with someone, but he doesn't remember who or where exactly, only that the person – or people – is waiting for him in New York."

"Well then, this tour might be helpful, eh?" The Canadian's smile was hopeful and kind. "Seeing the city might trigger something."

Lukas nodded. "You have a point."

Matthew hummed happily. "Glad to be of help."

And Lukas was just glad that there was at least one other levelheaded and relatively normal (occupation excluded because being a Black Market exporter and delivery service was _not_ normal) person around him.

* * *

Ignoring Lukas's personal history with the city, New York was truly quite majestic. Modern glass skyscrapers clawing up towards the sky, spaces in between beautiful filled with stone and wooden buildings that breathed age and experience and change. The elegant form of the Statue of Liberty stood proudly in the distance, watching everything and everyone below her with her firm yet gentle gaze.

Alfred had not been buffing when he claimed to know New York City better than anyone else. As they strolled down the streets, the American transformed from a goofy pilot into a walking encyclopedia. He rattled off historical dates and names like he was announcing his own birthday and favorite color: there was familiarity and fondness laced with the confident facts, and more than once did he stop to point at an ordinary building to tell them about what it had been fifty years ago and how this was significant.

By the time they stopped for lunch at one, Lukas's head was ringing, and Emil looked slightly disturbed by just _how much_ information Alfred had revealed. Mathias, surprisingly, was unperturbed and remained interested with everything their guide said despite getting mildly distracted a few times, but that was probably because he was constantly forgetting that Alfred had been chattering their ears off nonstop for the past two hours.

Lunch was a peaceful and relaxing affair of Alfred _finally_ stops talking about history and architecture so he could ask about their opinions so far.

"Very interesting," was the best Lukas managed.

Matthew, nearly invisible sitting beside them, laughed softly. He was probably so used to Alfred that this was all very amusing instead.

Alfred grinned back, and the hour of lunch went smoothly.

An hour after lunch, Lukas became very suspicious of Mathias.

Two more hours after that, his suspicions came true.

Mathias Køhler had utterly, completely forgotten about his so-called 'meeting'.

Emil had noticed that as well, and he looked perpetually on the verge of laughter.

"We're going home." Both Emil and Mathias _and_ Alfred were getting on his nerves and he didn't know how long he'd be able to take it. Dinner had been perfect, thank you for paying the bill, but no thank you for a night tour.

Matthew glanced up at the darkening sky, pale blue fading then erupting into fiery red on one side, smudged indigo on the other. "It _is_ getting a bit late, eh?"

"You're not staying for the night?" Alfred had the look of a kicked puppy.

"We are busy," Lukas replied bluntly. "We've spent enough time here." The entire day, in fact.

"The tour didn't work?" Matthew asked, and Lukas just shrugged, then shook his head.

"Let's go." Then when he saw the pilots stand with them, he added, "No need, we know the way."

"We do?" Mathias frowned.

" _I_ do," corrected Lukas, and they escaped down the street.

Alfred was oblivious but Matthew laughed at their desperation, and watched the three foreigners disappear around a corner before turning away with his American brother.

Then a moment later, a child walked out a nearby alleyway, blue-gray eyes bright as he tracked down the shadows of three, oblivious fools. He touched a finger to a vicious scar tearing across the bridge of his nose and his right cheek, and followed.

* * *

Lukas had been so sure that they were very close to the station, but it turned out to be just a bit farther than he thought it was. If he had known how much that extra distance was going to cost them, he would have asked for Matthew and Alfred as an escort.

Although, even they might not have been able to help.

They've had an early dinner due to two happy, chattering blonds who suddenly decided at five that they were starving, so by the time all five of them left the growingly crowded restaurant, many stores were shut or closing and people filtering into restaurants and homes left the streets not _empty_ , but much less busy as night fell.

New York at night was a glittering city of lights of every color that flickered and pulsed and bloomed like stars. The glowing streetlights offered no small amount of comfort to Lukas, who couldn't help but remember and fear a green-eyed ghost who had been more sad than cold or cruel to two frightened and disoriented children. He acknowledged this with shame, but really, there were worst ghosts to fear.

If only he had remembered the golden-eyed _child_ instead.

They were walking past a dark patch of shadows between two flickering streetlamps when Emil gave a strangled gasp and was wrenched away from his side and into the darkness. There was a moment of quiet and shock, Mathias continuing to walk several steps before freezing and spinning around with a wild look in his wide eyes.

"Don't move." The voice was soft but sharp. "Unless you want him to die."

The headlights of a passing car momentarily lit up the blind spot, illuminating coppery red hair and bright eyes, a feral smile painted across a child's face broken by a ugly scar that streaked horizontally across his face.

Everyone save for the child was frozen, and his silhouette shifted as he angled his gun against Emil's temple, an awful click cracking through air as the safety was flipped off. Those eager eyes shifted from Lukas to Mathias, and that ugly smile widened. "Mathias Køhler-,"

"Run!" Emil gasped this word and it didn't register until there was a shout of surprise and the boy sped _through_ Lukas and down the street, his form flickering under the lights but materializing as soon as he was past Mathias. The frozen shock disintegrated and Lukas, grabbing and steering Mathias by his sleeve, fled after his brother.

"Who is that?" he muttered, eyeing the child's furious expression as he gave chase.

"The boy-," Mathias glanced over his shoulder with a mildly confused expression. "He was saying my name…" They caught up swiftly with Emil, who was beginning to pant. He ignored Lukas's concerned gaze, and rapidly led the two older boys around a corner in an attempt to-

Several unfamiliar voices cried out in surprise, but no one knew where to look.

Lukas's ears were ringing, and there was the disgusting tang of smoke in the air, but what made his stomach clench was the sound of Emil shouting, and the crack of bone against concrete as he fell. But Mathias was there in a second, grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing the young boy up and into his arms as they charged on.

Two more shots rang out, and Lukas felt the burn of a bullet though his sleeve dangerously close to his arm.

And then, Mathias Køhler grabbed the lid of a trashcan. Lukas could imagine a screech as the tall blonde skid to a halt, Lukas next to him with confusion and desperation rattling his bones and mind. Emil was dropped to the ground, steadied by one strong arm, the other brandishing the lid like a shield.

"What are you-?!" Emil was thrust into Lukas's arms.

Mathias _charged_.

At that moment, the child appeared around the corner, gun in broad streetlight, and was met by the flat face of the trashcan lid. Instincts saved him as he planted both hands on the surface to avoid slamming into it face-first, but Mathias felt the wrong type of pressure and swung the metal plate upwards in a wide sweep. The red-haired boy stumbled, catching himself just in time-

The lid was swept sideways like a gigantic fan.

-for the metal surface to slam right into his shoulder and the side of his head. He flew sideways several meters, and did not move.

Mathias did not spare the unconscious child a second glance, throwing down the dented trash can lid, and they bolted.

They did not stop running for a long time, silent save for shuddering gasps and pants for breaths and Emil's gentle yelps when his bleeding leg was jostled too harshly as they ran from a reawakened nightmare.

The young assassin couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, but Lukas couldn't stop remembering the golden-eyed child who begged for death or mercy – but weren't they really the same thing? And those bright green eyes that had seemed so dangerous ten, eleven years ago but were really just the reflection of a mourning heart.

Today was different, he knew. The assassin did not try to kill. He had tried to take Emil hostage, and in return he had asked for-

They came to a final, stumbling halt in an unknown destination, Mathias gently setting Emil against the brick wall and letting him sit there, unable to move with a bleeding wound split open on his calf.

They should've never come back to New York City.

* * *

 **Wow, I really suck.**

 **But now that school's started again, I'm going to try and get back on schedule, as if I've ever had one: one chapter every one to two weeks, hopefully.**

 **Either way! Here is the chapter where things start to get a _little bit_ more interesting, although I'm kind of disappointed with how it turned out, it's good enough, I guess.**

 **Thank you for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW!**


	6. Home

**Chapter Five**

Emil hissed as Lukas cautiously pressed a few fingers onto the spot on the side of his calf where the blood seemed to be seeping from, examining the wound. He sighed shakily, but was only slightly comforted. "It's just a scratch. A deep scratch, mind you, but there's no bullet buried inside of you."

"That's good news," Emil grumbled with a grimace, "although it doesn't feel very good."

"Emmy!" Mathias exclaimed, horrified. He had forgotten that he was supposed to be acting as the lookout, and had noticed Emil's injury when he turned to the brothers. "You're bleeding! Does it hurt?"

"Of course it does."

"Get back to your post, Mathias." Lukas pointed in the direction away from them, signaling Mathias to turn around, and then to Emil, "We need to get this wrapped up."

"I don't need to take off my jeans, do I?"

"We can rip it open!" Mathias suggested, peering over Lukas's shoulder and not returning to his post, probably because he wasn't sure what it meant. "Your pants are already torn."

"Mathias," Lukas's voice was edged with a warning, "I can handle this. Leave."

"You can tear out the sleeve from your shirt to wrap it up nice and tight," the taller blonde added. "Here, let me help." He reached forward to further split open Emil's ruined jeans, but his hand was slapped away.

" _I'll handle this_ ," hissed Lukas. " _You_ get away from him."

Mathias shrugged, lifting both hands in the air. "I was just trying to help."

 _"Help?"_ The elder brother sounded incredulous. "You've done enough, thank you very much." He stood suddenly, spinning around to face his victim, ramrod straight spine making him seem taller than Mathias despite the actual height difference. "If you didn't insist on coming to this cursed city, none of this would have happened. We wouldn't have been attacked, Emil wouldn't have gotten hurt, and we wouldn't be stranded in this place because there are probably more assassins placed around the city to hunt us down!" Then, Lukas sneered disdainfully. "To hunt _you_ down."

Mathias frowned. "I don't-,"

"Of course you don't. You've probably already forgotten everything I said, not to mention what had happened." Lukas turned away, ignoring Emil's wide-eyed stare, and began to pull open the torn cloth to reveal the weeping wound.

Mathias gingerly stepped forward. "Can I-?"

Lukas shook his head. "Forget about it. That's what you do best, isn't it?"

Finally realizing that he had done _something_ to screw everything up and make his best friend angry at him, Mathias tried to make amends. "Lukas-"

But the smaller blonde whipped around, an enraged expression, cold blue eyes wide and glaring, teeth bared. _"SCRAM."_

Mathias was startled by the vicious sharpness that slapped him in the face, and with barely a moment of hesitation, he did just that: he scrammed.

He did not go far: just enough so that Lukas and Emil were still in view, but they could easily ignore him if they wanted. He slumped down against a brick wall, hugging his knees to his chest, and felt that despicable feeling of loss rising again from that black hole in his mind. The feeling came so often he was almost used to it, but still it never failed to make him feel like a petrified child wandering in the dark, searching and weeping and pleading for- _"Help!"_

Mathias froze, jerking upright, blue eyes wide and curious.

 _"Please, somebody!"_

Was he imagining that voice? It didn't sound too far away…

He got to his feet, just as the same small, frail voice called again, "Help!"

Around a corner and peeking into the darkness of a deep alleyway, Mathias heard the voice become clearer, desperation laced into the imploration.

"Sir, please, I beg of you…"

"Hello?" he called, still waiting for his eyes to adjust and make out the dark lumps at the dead end. "Somebody there?"

"Yes, yes please…"

Mathias stepped into the alley, and he noticed something pale in the midst of the shadowy shapes. The lighter shapes shifted and moved, and the voice seemed to come from them. "Please help…"

It was a child, he realized suddenly as his eyes finally decided to adjust to the darkness. A little girl, no older than ten; the pale things were her face and limbs, marred by ugly bruises. One of her legs was twisted in an awkward angle, and her dark eyes shed silvery tears that made her cheeks glisten. _"Please…"_

"You're-" Oh, this was bad, this was awful. This little girl was hurt and Mathias didn't know what to _do_ … "Are you okay?"

The girl did not answer, instead crumbling into broken sobs and choking. "I want my mother…"

"Okay, okay." He squatted down, hands fumbling and nervous, touching her shoulders and hands without really knowing what to do. "Where- Where is your mother?"

"I want to _go home_ …"

"Shh…" He didn't know how to do this! He should comfort her, but he should bring her home to her mother but he doesn't know where and _-!_

" _Please_ , sir…" She reached up with both hands, pleading for a hug, and being the disoriented person he was, Mathias gave it to her. She held him tight around the neck, wailing into his shoulder as his own hands fluttered confusedly. They landed around her waist, and he wrapped her up gently in his strong arms.

"Here, I should-," and that was when he felt the needle prick his neck.

Startled, Mathias dropped the girl, clapping a hand to his neck, where something was numbing his skin and spreading…

"Isn't she brilliant?" a voice called suddenly; a semi-familiar voice, but no longer warm and affectionate. The bright streetlights enabled him to see only the silhouette of the speaker, a tall, willowy woman, long hair tied back, with a confident gait and a cruel voice. Mathias found his vision shifting queerly, unable to focus as the numbness spread outwards down his shoulder, seeping into his skull. When the woman moved, she was a blur of shadows, and when she laughed, the sound bounced and echoed in his head, blocking out all other sounds while he swayed on his feet. One leg gave out, the other kicking weakly as the ground came rushing up, bare inches away with his elbows and arms as a weak, trembling support.

"Who're…?" he tried to call, but his tongue was a dead slab of meat in his mouth, moving sluggishly, the words dragging out and slurring. "What…?"

Mathias squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the nauseating feeling away to no avail. When his eyes opened again – with great difficult as he fought the sudden, overwhelming sense of drowsiness, the shadowy woman had disappeared from her spotlight, but there was gentle hand caressing his cheek and running comfortingly through his hair as that malicious voice cooed, "Poor, little Viking, lost in the dark. Do you even know the way home?"

 _"Home…?"_ _Hjem_ , he said, and wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

 _"Ja, come home,"_ she said, an unpleasant accent marking words from a familiar language.

 _"Home…"_ he repeated, and found himself grasping at memories of hours on hours of staring at blank walls and the joy and relief when the door opened every afternoon. _"Lu…kas…"_

The memories slipped from between his fingers no matter how tightly he clutched them, and he felt the darkness swoop in.

* * *

 _It was the reckless sort of release seeking decision Lukas had made on one of his sleepless nights. All the lights were on, of course – he wasn't sure_ how _he had managed to sleep without them before._

 _The apartment was silent with an electric hum in the air from all the open lights – the Bad Touch Trio never returned to it afterwards, and Tim and his siblings had their own places to take care of._

 _But Lukas stayed._

 _He didn't know why, especially since it reeked so much of…_ his _death, but home smelled too much like his_ life _, and for some reason, that was even more painful._

 _So he stayed, with the musky air and dusty sheets and old, flickering lights. The familiar banner fluttered in the nonexistent breeze beyond the balcony, and Lukas could find little pinpoints of red from hypersensitive cameras, like red eyes that wouldn't stop staring, no matter what happened, no matter how much you pleaded, no matter how hard you fought._

 _That was when the thought hit him, and he had to wrestle with it a bit because- wasn't it still a bit near home?_

 _But then- what did it matter? Root out the danger closer to your heart, and the more likely you'll survive._

* * *

 _He barely lasted till noon before he couldn't take it anymore. Strolling into the building dressed in casually formal clothes was easy, and no one glanced his way as he took the elevator up to the seventh floor, four levels from the very top._

 _The level was mostly deserted, voices seeping from cracks into the hallway he was strolling past in, wondering where he should start._

 _But his musings went to waste when he passed a guard patrolling the halls, and he was stopped._

 _"Hey, you're not-"_

 _Blood had a very distinctive smell and taste, metallic and lifeless and lukewarm, but there was a hidden sweetness that most people forget. Blood was beautiful; if only it was a bit easier to wash out._

 _The body dropped to the floor, and he left it there, front stained and hands covered in crimson life._

 _It seemed like he would have to start here._

 _The well-oiled hinges did not creak, but there was a bang and crack as his foot connected with the first office door he came to and decided to enter with a semi-dramatic entrance. The office, unfortunately crowded, was startled into silence, but the blood dripping from his hand and knife drew a scream from a woman quite close to him._

 _A simple snap of his wrist, and she was silenced, his knife stabbing into her open mouth and through the other side, severing her spine and pinning her to the wall. His footsteps were silent as he approached the feebly twitching woman, but there was a disgusting squelch as he wrenched his knife free. She dropped to the ground and did not move._

 _The spell was shattered._

 _Several screams pierced through the air, accompanied by loud shouted threats and the sound of guns being readied and aimed: some things he could reap after he'd planted death._

 _He moved before they were actually ready to punch him full of holes, and the first gun he took from a man writhing on the ground and choking on his own blood was the only one he needed to take down everyone in the office._

 _Then, just because he could, he casually tucked six more guns into his belt. The more the merrier, right?_

 _He didn't even need gasoline or oil: bodies burned easily, and the wooden furniture did nothing but help. It started off as a small smolder, smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling._

 _When the fire alarm rang, there was nothing more on seventh floor than blood and carrion, and he was halfway through the sixth floor._

 _A simple spark, and that floor was set ablaze as well._

 _The elevators were abandoned, but traffic clogged the stairs as everyone hogged in that direction for escape._

 _He waited vigil on the first floor, guns in hand, and the moment the first fleeing face appeared, he opened fire._

 _The cameras watched him, alarmed, and somewhere overhead, there was an explosion, accompanied by the screams of desperate souls who had escaped through the window to avoid the flames, only to splatter onto the ground like water balloons filled with dark red liquid._

 _The rushing mob was overwhelming, and he wasn't particularly in the mood to cut down every single person in a burning building, so all it took was one bullet: aimed towards one beady red eye, and suddenly, gas was spewing everywhere, and the building was in lockdown._

 _He was out the door before the bullet proof double doors could slide and bolt shut. Bullet proof did not necessarily mean sound proof, and there was the frightened screams and hopeless pounding against the doors and windows before the first of the fiery tendrils brushed against the permeating gas._

 _The force of the explosion sent trees snapping, and the building crumbled on itself and all the occupants inside._

 _Outside the apartment window, the world was a blazing inferno. If Lukas tried, he could almost imagine that the fire burned cold: it was a pity it didn't._

 _After all, that was how hell burned, and if hell was going to crumble, let the fire burn towards the heavens._

* * *

 **I updated!**

 **Not the best chapter, no, but I updated!**

 **I'm not very satisfied with it, but when am I ever?**

 **The plot has finally started to accelerate (hopefully).**

 **Thank you for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW!**


	7. Golds and Greens

**Chapter Six**

 _"Brother…?" the boy was slowly stirring, but his form was strangely blurred._

 _"Yes, Natalia has a brother." There was someone sitting next to him, speaking rapidly with a somewhat rushed tone, as if trying to wake the boy from a not-really slumber. "It's like, shocking, isn't it? A lot of people have brothers, actually, but I don't, which is like, not awesome. Having a sibling would be fabulous."_

 _He saw him smile then, and it felt like it was the first in years._

 _"Ludwig has a brother." A new voice, not exactly familiar, but the cheerfulness tugged at something in the back of his mind. "But I've never met him, which is sad. Kiku has lots of brothers!"_

 _"And a sister." How many people were there? He could only see three, but there were four voices._

 _"Oh yes, a_ bella sorella _." It was_ that _voice again, the one that spoke with more life than any other, but the source could not be seen. He looked from the boy on the blurry ground, smile gracing his lips, to a dark haired skeleton and a golden-haired lunatic. No lips were moving, and yet the voice continued, "And me too! I have… I_ had _a brother…"_

 _He_ had _a brother… He could only imagine how painful it'd be to lose a brother. Emil might not show it, but he cared so, so much but didn't understand or tolerate the humaneness of the feeling or action and was more willing to build a fortress around his heart and soul. And he knew that_ he _would've been the same if_ he _hadn't nailed down_ his _soul with a promise, and he thought that perhaps, that was what made_ him _so beautiful, those conflicting personalities; that was what made Lukas-_

Lukas.

 _It came as a shock at first, the sudden surge of memories. But it had been there all along, it wasn't even hiding, and he had never found it because it had been too dark._

 _Something cracked in the darkness, and he heard someone scream. Then the image: the boy, the two speakers and the invisible one as well, crumbled into nothingness, and he realized_ that he was the one was screaming.

* * *

Lukas never thought he'd regret his own words so much. He also never thought that Emil could be so angry at _him_ , of all people. The world had veered off into a strange, foreign path where everything was warped and _wrong_ and just simply impossible because-

 _"Now Mathias is gone, and it's **your fault**!"_

But- that wasn't possible, because he hadn't meant to tell him to go away, he just wanted some space, he was so overwhelmed and scared- but Mathias had been like an anchor for him in panic and he had just pushed him away like- he had just- he just…

"I didn't mean it." The words tasted sour on his lips, even if they knew it was true. He sounded like a guilty child, he felt like a guilty child, and- wasn't that what he was? Guilty?

"You didn't mean it." If it was anytime else, Lukas would've been proud. Emil had grown, and whether it was influence from Australia, or him, or Ms. Héderváry, he didn't know and didn't care and at the moment, it didn't matter either. " _Of course_ you didn't mean it. And Hitler didn't mean to start a war!" Now _that_ was a bit overboard, but it did its job of making Lukas even more miserable. The fact that they were somewhat stranded in an assassin-infested city with Emil barely standing yet lecturing him made it simply unbearable. "If I told you to go away, you'd have felt-" Horrible. "Exactly! And yet you decide to tell him to- to _scram_!"

"I know, I know." This was probably the most painful moment in Lukas's life so far, although the clash with a certain Middle School teacher was a close second. "But-," He was changing the topic, he was avoiding the ugliness, he knew what he was doing but he couldn't _help_ it. "But… shouldn't we go find him first?"

Emil threw his hands up in the air, but it was with a conflicted kind of relief. "Thank _God_. Here I was thinking you've lost your brain somewhere during the tour." Now that was just rude, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Emil was insulting him simply because he had the chance to.

But Lukas decided to be the better man and pulled out his phone. "I… We can call Alfred and uh…" There was another one; somebody else had been with them all day, so why couldn't he remember? Short term memory was not contagious, was it? "Anyways, we can call someone for help, although…" Although Alfred might not be the best idea. He was almost as mad as Mathias, and Lukas did _not_ need a night tour of New York City. "Whatever."

So he dialed Alfred's number, the phone began to connect, and the phone couldn't have even beeped yet when-

 _"The number you have dialed is not-"_

"That went well." And it was, for his sanity.

"Maybe Mathias had already gone back home?"

"Doubtful." Lukas continued to scroll through his pitiful amount of contacts filled with no one to help them. Of his most useful contacts, he only had Alfred's number: the American had forced it onto him at the beginning of the tour in case they got separated. Uncharacteristically considerate, and it might have come in good use if only the American had picked-

"Why do you have the Bad Touch Trio's number?"

"I- what?" He did not remember having that at all, but sure enough, he tracked down a very unsuspicious tab labeled "BTT home", and when he clicked inside, the number actually looked legit.

"We can call them," Emil said with a shrug, as if calling an assassin, a hacker, and a trader of the Black Market to check if their friend was at home was not weird _at all_ and completely foolproof. "Go on, call them."

"I am going to regret this," Lukas muttered, but he pressed on the chain of numbers and it began to dial. He gingerly placed his phone over the shell of his ear, already anticipating the loud shouting and chaos that would surely ensue when the constant dragged out beeps stopped to allow him to converse with the last people he wanted to talk to.

The beeping that had started to fade into the background noise abruptly silenced, and there was a slight crackle to the voice that took over. A slightly accented, sweet, unfamiliar, _feminine_ voice.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Wrong number," Lukas declared, and promptly hung up.

* * *

Mathias woke up screaming, and he didn't know why. He also woke with someone gripping his shoulders too tightly and shaking him violently, and the moment he caught the expression on his assaulter's face, his mouth snapped shut and his brain stopped wondering.

More accurately, his brain stopped wondering about why he was screaming, and began wondering who this very angry and violent person was.

There was something strangely familiar about this person, but his twisted scowl – although truly vicious and unforgiving – was the fakest thing Mathias had ever seen, though it was also very memorable, since it was doubtful you'd ever meet someone with as much hate as this person who had stopped shaking him, but was still gripping his shoulders uncomfortably tightly, fingers digging into the bone. Maybe Mathias had passed him one time on the street, and his sub-consciousness – something Lukas had described to him and Matthias proudly remembered – had taken note and remembered him.

The person had dark chestnut hair, a strange wayward strand curling towards the ceiling like some kind of absurdly proud beanstalk, and his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of green tinted with gold that flashed with ire.

"Ow," Mathias uttered.

"Shut up," the person snapped back. "Thanks to you the guards are probably going to come running soon, which means my escape plan has been completely spoiled and it's entirely _your fault_!"

Strangely enough, Matthias felt like that wasn't the first time he had heard something similar to that before, and a wave of guilt swept through him.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, "But, um, who-?" That was when he caught sight of the bars. "Where-?" He was in a gray concrete box with one white light overhead, a door of metal and gear that was then protected by a row of metal bars to his left. He wasn't sure how the person planned on escaping as it seemed practically impossible. "What?"

"Oh _Dio mio_." The person rolled his eyes and finally released Mathias, who sat up straight, rubbing his shoulders. He had a way of talking that was foreign to Mathias: his syllables were very clear with an elegant little twist to them that was then blunted by his curt tone and angry voice."You are insufferable."

"What did I say?" Mathias was very confused."Who are you? I'm Mathias," he added after a pause.

"Lovino," the brunet answered with a grunt, then rounded up to Mathias again, eyebrows furrowed, green eyes narrowed. "You don't know where you are?"

This was a question he could answer easily. "No. I don't remember much of anything, in fact. Just… there was a person… um…" Mathias felt his eyes wander, skimming over the windowless concrete slabs and landing on the cell door. He blinked, noticed a flash of color in the gray environment, and cheerfully greeted a person whom he assumed was his roommate. "Hi, I'm Mathias! What is your name?"

The hand he stuck out was sorely ignored as the person stared at him, expression unreadable. "You're mad."

"I'm really not, actually," Mathias denied. "I'm feeling quite happy right now. Not sure why I'd be angry, honestly. Although I _do_ have short-term memory, which _could_ be something I should be angry about."

" _Short-term_ -?!" The person spluttered, throwing both hands into the air in disbelief. "Okay." It took a moment for him to settle down, scowl still in place but considerably calmer. "Okay, I see. This is just great. Okay." Then he took a heavy breath and dropped back down to the ground before Mathias, crossing his hands and feet as he observed the blond skeptically. "I know that you are Mathias Køhler, and I also know a great deal more about you because I've read the files they've stupidly decided to put right outside our doors, but I'm not going to waste my breath telling you about every horrible thing you've done because you won't remember it anyway. So remember this: My name is Lovino Vargas."

"Lovino Vargas," Mathias repeated, tasting the foreign syllables. "Where are we, Lovino Vargas?"

"Lovino is fine," the brunet snapped. "And for your information, we are in a prison."

"A prison?"

"An Underworld prison, to be more specific. Probably in the middle of a forest surrounded by mountains or something. Well, I say prison, but it's more like a hanging prison, for the people that had done L'Inferno some great sin, and they are planning to get rid of us. Either they kill us, or we'll be sent to a lab."

This was a bit too much for Mathias to take in all at once. "Prison- Inferno?"

"Underworld, L'Inferno, Hell: they're all the same thing. Now," Lovino clapped his hands together, cutting Mathias off before he could ask another question, "I know who you are, and that is the only reason why I am going to offer this deal to you. According to your files, you are due for an examination in a nearby laboratory, identity and ability checks and whatnot. I," he gestured at himself, "am due for a painful execution. L'Inferno's been trying to get at me for years, ever since the Fall. Luckily for me, they don't know how to keep me in yet, but I also don't know the way out, which is why I need you."

He paused suddenly, head tilting to one side, eyes wide but unseeing as if he was concentrating on- _footsteps_. Military marching of two pairs of feet, louder and louder as they neared. Mathias froze with Lovino, then he blinked, and one minute the irritable Italian was there, and the next, he was gone.

The footsteps were an echo that seeped through the walls and made the air quiver, but they stopped somewhere near Mathias's cell. There was the sound of metal sliding against metal, some murmured comments followed by snickering laughter, and then the footsteps carried on. And stopped in front of his door.

A small panel of metal on the door slid to the side to reveal a pair of wide brown eyes, staring right at Mathias. "This one's awake," the owner of those eyes reported. The metal panel slid shut, and the footsteps departed.

There was a moment of silence – Mathias doubted he would be able to hear anything more than those vague footsteps and muffled voices patrolling the halls, which was why he was startled when he heard a heavy sigh behind him. He was on his feet in an instant, muscles moving on their own accord, knees bending and muscles tensing before his brain could wonder why he was doing this. And sure enough, Lovino Vargas diverted his glare at the bolted door towards Mathias, who he frowned quizzically at. "What are you doing?"

"I-," It took effort to relax, to let go of whatever subconscious memory that had gotten him strung up and frightened to the point of nausea. "I don't know." And he didn't. There was something inside of him that had started screaming when those guards peeked in, like he knew he was going to die but couldn't do anything to prevent it. He was not going to die. He was not dead.

"Of course you're not." Mathias had not known that he had been thinking out loud until Lovino decided to reply, an uncomfortable shift in his words. "You're going to a lab for check-up – not even for experiments, mind you – while _I_ am going to die."

"Are you scared?" How could he speak of something like this so calmly, as if he didn't care?

"Not anymore." Something flickered across Lovino's face, but the vulnerability was gone before Mathias could identify it. "I've already died once. It's not very difficult to do it again."

"I've died so many times," Mathias said, his voice hollow. He did not understand the meaning of his own words, but at the same time, it all made sense. "Every time I forget something, it felt like I'm dying. All I remember is that I've forgotten so many thing, and I'm still so, so scared."

Lovino did not reply right away. Mathias was wrong when he first thought the Italian was brash, because he seemed to think for such a long time before saying anything. To a certain extent, he reminded him of-

"Everyone fears death, but they don't realize that they've been dying the whole time. Only some have the privilege of tasting it twice. They say that only cowards will taste death multiply times, but really: it is something you should treasure, and never forget. Don't forget that feeling, so that when it comes for you again, you would know it, and you can run from it again."

"Lukas," Mathias said suddenly, and he puzzled both of them. "I need to get back to Lukas."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure but… I think he's someone very important to me. I have a meeting. With someone. I was supposed to go to New York but I-," Mathias grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging at it frustratingly. "I just- I don't know. I have to get out of here. I have to find Lukas."

Lovino smiled, and it was strange thing, like something inhuman was finally shining through that crooked twist of his lips, a maniacal light gleaming in those golden green eyes – vivid but solid, unlike Lukas's deep and misty eyes, as if he was always dreaming, but at the same time, so grounded and realistic: beautiful in an inexplicable way, like he – neither of them – was something of this world. Something inside of him throbbed, screaming, crumbling to sobs before erupting into wailing when Lovino laughed like something was morbidly ironic, and offered him words he never thought he'd hear.

"And that, Mathias Køhler, is why I need you."

* * *

Lukas might have felt better if they had some kind of plan, but Alfred was not picking up his phone whatsoever, he did not want to stay another minute in that goddamned city, and it was a surprisingly swift trip back to Boston.

Mathias was not at home. The apartment was completely undisturbed, unnervingly quiet, and Emil decided that that was a very bad omen. "What if we actually left him in New York?"

"We probably did." Lukas frowned at the clock. "Hopefully he somehow finds his way to whoever he was supposed to meet, but before that…"

"I have a bad feeling about this, Lukas. Even if you told Mathias to leave, he wouldn't wander so far away – unless he forgot about us, that is."

"Which is quite likely, actually. So we need help."

"A psychiatrist, perhaps?" No, now was _not_ the time to be cheeky, Emil, but-

"Worse. Come, Emil."

Less than ten minutes home, and they were gone again for an undetermined stretch of time, except this time they were more prepared, and this time Lukas was not alone.

But he retraced his steps from what felt like a lifetime ago, a sickened sense pooling in his stomach when he passed that hidden path where several months ago, a truck had parked by the roadside and a monster had struck him where he was weakest. There was that corner where he met a stranger who was no less a stranger today, and the crossroads into the populated city where he met his second assassin. He remembered being led down the streets and through the city, up an elevator and through a door into an apartment only a few miles from his own. Instead this time, he was the one who knocked, not the red-eyed killer, and instead of a cautious voice calling from inside out, the door opened without hesitation, and they were met by a stranger – another stranger who was not Antonio or Francis or Gilbert.

"Hello." At least the voice was slightly more familiar: there was a lilt in the words that made the green-eyed girl obviously foreign and a sweetness that fit well with her open smile, but there was nothing soft or vulnerable either. She sounded excited and confident, filled with energy that had her tipping back and forth on her feet, a green band holding back brown curls that bounced each time she fell from the tip of her toes onto her heels before rocking back onto her toes. "How may I help you? And don't tell me the password is 22020. The last guy who did still has a wife and a band of police searching for him, but stupidly enough they never thought to search for him in the middle of the sea, hm?"

And all they could do was stare.

* * *

"We've all got things we want: you want to find someone, and I want to find someone as well. But where you are going is where I want to be, and it's not simply to avoid an execution.

"So here's the deal: you get me to the labs, and I get you out of here."

"How?" Unless Lovino had a drill hidden up his shirt, he wasn't sure how they were getting out of this concrete box.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." Fine, be that way.

"Why do you want to go to the labs?" It certainly didn't sound like a nice place to be.

Lovino gave an irritated huff. "As I said, I'm looking for someone. I'm not sure where he is now, but it's impossible to leave the lab unless you… die…" There was a pause as Lovino worried his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed with distressed thoughts. "But… I'm sure he'll be fine. It hasn't been _that_ long and… well… I just need to get to the lab to do some research so I can know where to find him," he finished, looking anywhere but at Mathias.

He shrugged. That sounded like a good enough reason.

"And there's one more thing." Lovino's voice hardened again, but this time with something that differed from his former determination. Mathias found his eyes cold and bright, the green fading into the gold, gleaming with something he couldn't name. There was an edge in his voice that Mathias didn't like, although there was nothing unpleasant or terrible when he spoke, only a grim sort of stiffness that made his words clip past his clenched teeth in sharp sounds. "Do you know a woman who goes by the name of Magyar?"

"Magyar?" Mathias was puzzled. "It sounds familiar…" but he just couldn't figure out why. There it was again: that awful, empty feeling when you knew it was there, but couldn't find it, couldn't reach it, couldn't see it.

"If it sounds familiar, then you've probably heard of her before. Good, good…" The brunet ran a jittery hand through his hair, then pinned Mathias with his piercing gaze once more. "I know who you are, and that's why I need you. Not only to get to the lab, but also to help me…" he paused, glancing towards the door and around the room as if this Magyar would somehow be eavesdropping on them through two feet of concrete and metal.

"I think I'll accept," Mathias spoke abruptly and without direction or thought. His mind barely registered what was happening; it was still digging through shadows and dust searching for anything about 'Magyar', but all he had found was faded photos of one distant memory of a day in a café after school, eager for dinner and expecting something more but interrupted by someone beautiful, someone bold, someone Lukas did not like.

"Pardon?"

"I think I'll accept," he repeated. "I help you and you help me. Sounds good to me."

"You don't even know what I want you to do."

"Does it matter?" Mathias truly wondered. He felt like he had already done everything a man could do – he just didn't remember any of it. "A deal's a deal."

Lovino was hesitant to take his hand, but he shook it firmly. "A deal's a deal."

"But still, can you tell me what it is that you want me to do? The Terms of Agreement, I think it's called, right?"

 _"Sì."_ Golden eyes glinting, there was a twist of lips to reveal an ugly smile, a malignant baring of venomous fangs. "I have many thoughts of what to do to that woman, but I need you for only one thing: I need you to help me kill her."

* * *

 **Hello! Thanks for all the reviews! Here's Chapter 7, I hope you enjoyed it. Admittedly it's not that well written: a bit redundant, in my opinion, which is why it's so much longer than my usual chapters, I guess.**

 **Well, thank you for reading, and please Review!**


	8. Maps in Crimson

**Wow. Here I was telling you all I should be able to update in one to two weeks, and it's been nearly a month and all I can get out is this... _thing_ that's just getting longer and longer but nothing is actually happening. I'm sorry. But here's chapter 7, I hope you enjoy!**

 **Warning: Some swearing, which is inevitable now that Lovino has joined the crew.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

Now, Lukas knew his manners, even if he did spent a section of his life in a rowdy orphanage, but at the entrance of Room 502 of an old apartment building, all he could force out of his mouth was, "Who are you?"

The girl furrowed her brows and shot back. "Who are _you_?"

"I- My name is Lukas; this is my brother Emil." He stubbornly ignored the initial stumble and carried on as smoothly as shakily possible. "We are looking for the Bad Touch Trio." And then he winced, because the Bad Touch Trio simply was not a very smooth-sounding name to go throwing around at strangers.

The frown disappeared, and the girl's eyes opened wide, pink lips forming a perfect 'O' in a look of utter surprise. For a moment she only stared, and then her two hands shot forward so quickly that the brothers didn't realize she had moved until they were being dragged by the shoulder into the apartment with a surprising amount of strength.

"Tim!" she hollered, kicking the door shut while guiding the two boys into the small living room and forcing them onto the couches. _"Er zijn mensen die_ hen _zoeken!"_

 _"Wie?"_ a man's voice called back from one of the bedrooms, somewhat monotone and dispassionate.

 _"Twee jongens!"_

A door opened and a man – Tim – emerged. There was something undeniably haughty about his sharp face, the way his lips tilted downwards but his eyes remained blank, the way his nose was pointed in the air. His blonde hair was poised in an upward direction, defying gravity as the hairdo reached towards ceiling like some kind of strangely shaped flower. There was a scarf draped around the man's wide shoulders even though it wasn't cold at all, while below the scarf was a simple white T-shirt and shorts. Despite his weird and less-than-fashionable dress, his narrowed gaze was intimidating, and Lukas could feel Emil shrinking a little bit beside him.

Tim opened his mouth, no doubt to ask them who they were, when the doorbell rang.

"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, sounding ever so slightly exasperated. She hurried towards the door, throwing it open to reveal… a small mountain of plastic bags. There was a small cry from outside when several bags of something toppled to the ground and rolled into the apartment.

"Nathan!" the girl cried. "We don't need that much!"

"I didn't want to go to the grocery store every few days!" Apparently there was someone under the bags of grocery, and he sounded like a whiny little boy. "Emma, help!"

Emma huffed unhappily and spun around on her heels, stalking back into the living room. "We've got guests, Nathan. Deal with it yourself."

There was a groan, the mountain of plastic tipped over precariously, and then it crumbled. The person underneath rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms and took to picking up the bags at the doorway. Nathan was a tall and lanky boy around Lukas's age, with soft green-blue eyes and light golden curls that fell around and over his face so that it was partially obscured. When the entrance was cleared, he slammed the door shut and greeted Lukas and Emil with a welcoming smile. "Hello!" he piped, and began carrying several bags into the kitchen just as Emma emerged, carrying a tray with a small kettle and two cups. She set the tray on the coffee table in front of the brothers, and poured lukewarm tea into the cups while Tim watched on the side, silent and stoic.

For a moment, all four of them watched while Nathan began placing food and drinks into the fridge, until Tim spoke suddenly, "Who are you?"

"My name is Lukas; this is my brother Emil," Lukas replied somewhat automatically.

"How do you know of the Bad Touch Trio?"

"We've met. They introduced themselves to us."

"Why are you looking for them?"

Lukas did not like being interrogated, but he answered meekly and truthfully, "We're in trouble."

"Elaborate."

Lukas took a deep, steadying breath. _It's necessary_ , he told himself; _these people probably know the Bad Touch Trio, and we're looking for them. Go with the flow, the way you've always done._ "Several months ago, my brother was taken by the Underworld and was sent to the labs; the Bad Touch Trio helped us retrieve him. Now my friend has disappeared after we were attacked by an Underworld assassin, so we need their help." He could only pray that they knew of the Underworld and its habits – and it was likely if they knew the BTT – since it'd be difficult to explain if they didn't.

There was a moment of silence. Then-

"Why was your brother taken?"

"I don't know."

"Which lab was your brother sent to?"

"The one in Australia, in Sydney."

Tim exchanged a quick glance with Emma, who watched the back and forth with wide, almost frightened green eyes.

"Australia?" Nathan closed the refrigerator and grabbed a few more grocery bags from the doorway before heading back towards the kitchen. "Isn't that the one that got blown up?"

"They say it was by someone in the rebel groups," Emma supplied. "It- It wasn't Toni, was it?" Toni – as in Antonio?

But Tim was speaking before Lukas could confirm.

"What is your relationship with the Underworld?"

He did not know how to answer. It should've been simple: he had none, other than being the victim of a few Underworld schemes, but then he remembered the sorrowful, green-eyed assassin who stood over the bodies of his parents – why was he there? Why were they killed? Why them, of all people? And why him? – and then there was Mathias, the strange boy who crashed into his life and turned it upside down, who knew everything and nothing and had been through so much he couldn't even remember even though everyone else remembered him. Lukas had watched as others whispered, snarled, wept, shouted, screamed his name, and he had watched him turn from his friend into a terrifying beast that only Hell could create. Did he really have no relationship or connection to the Underworld? Why was it that now that he thought back, his entire life had been swathed in wisps and threads of that despicable darkness?

"Who is this friend of yours that you're trying to save?"

He had been silent for too long, but this was a question he could answer easily, and he wondered what the reaction would be when he spoke his name:

"Mathias Køhler."

Something shattered in the kitchen.

* * *

"We need a map, don't we?"

"Of course we do," Lovino snapped. "This prison is a fucking labyrinth; even the guards need maps-"

"Then we can steal one from them!" Mathias exclaimed, delighted. "It's easy! You can become invisible!"

The Italian spluttered for a moment. "I don't- I can't _become invisible_ , you idiot, although…" he gave a small frown, and glanced up at the single miniature, red-eyed camera hidden in the corner of the cell. Mathias hadn't even noticed it until Lovino pointed it out to him. "You can't see me unless I want you to see me. That's why there aren't any guards running yet: they can't see me in your cell, and my cell is constantly empty in the cameras."

"But I'm talking to you."

"Yeah well, they've already established that you're not exactly right in the head. No one will bother to investigate."

"Hey!"

Lovino ignored him, and glanced at the camera again before saying, "Alright, you know the plan. I can't take us too far out – I have a limit, especially since I still have no idea where we are, so the goal is to get a map before the guards realize what's happening, and get the hell out of here."

Mathias nodded eagerly, although he still wasn't sure how they were getting out the cell in the first place – or, more accurately, how _Lovino_ was going to get them out.

"Good. Grab my hand."

Mathias took the offered hand, then watched as Lovino took a deep breath…

And the world dissolved into a disorienting blur of colors that swirled around and past him like running paint being washed away by rain. Those whirling and twirling lines began to slow, then stop, and it felt like they were rushing towards him in the speed of light, then crashing into a single point that then stretched and warped into-

A hallway. They were standing in the middle of a hallway lined with doors with heavy locks. It was completely silent, and Mathias's footsteps echoed when he stumbled from the dizzying ride.

Lovino seemed nervous, those golden-green eyes darting from one end to the other, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "You'll get used to it soon." His tone was as cutting as ever, despite the trembling edge. "Come on, we've got to go."

"To where?"

"To get a map, you imbecile!" the brunet snapped, jerking Mathias out of his woozy daze.

"Right!" His legs were a bit shaky and stiff – from what he wasn't sure, but running was difficult, and despite his small, almost scrawny stature, Lovino was fast. "Wait up!"

"Hurry up, fat-ass!"

"Hey!"

Both of them froze, and dared a glance over a shoulder to see a man standing there in a uniform, mouth agape and finger pointing. The other hand was grappling at the walkie-talkie clasped to his belt, and Mathias was turning and had only taken two steps when there was a strange breeze that drifted past him and then Lovino appeared in front of the guard out of nowhere.

"Escaped pri-!" The Italian was incredibly fast, perhaps even trained, but it was a knee in the gut then a quick chop behind the neck, and when Mathias approached, the brunet was already rummaging through the guard's clothes.

"Map, map, map…" he was muttering. "They always hide it in the strangest places…" But then he pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the man's front pocket and handed it to Mathias, who unfolded it to find himself staring at a maze of halls and rooms, marked by nothing but numbers and strange little symbols that tugged on something in the back of his head.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing to a little black feather located at the corner of the map, poised in the position of falling.

"It doesn't matter." Lovino snatched the maps from his hands and skimmed over it, then folding it messily and stuffing it into the pocket of his pants. "Follow me."

"Do you know the way out?"

"Not yet, but I know the general direction now."

"That works too," Mathias commented brightly, still wondering about the little black feather. Then he thought about the fact that they were running towards the exit of the prison, and he was immediately redirected towards the thought of Lukas. "I wonder if Lukas and Emil are looking for me."

"I don't know and I don't care."

They skidded around another corner with Lovino leading the way, but before they turned again, he paused to observe the map one more time. The Italian glanced at one of the doors – more specifically the number on the door – and cursed. "Wrong way."

And then they were going down the same path, retracing a few of their steps, now with Lovino burying his nose into the map. The hallways and corridors had long begun to look the same to Mathias. It was a prison in the most extreme sort: the hallways were lined with bolted doors, each as menacing as the last, sending uneasy jitters down his spine and limbs. The rooms weren't all occupied, no doubt; how could the Underworld have so many prisoners, so many enemies, when no one knew of its existence?

 _They don't have to know to be an enemy of the Underworld_ , a little voice reminded him. _They don't have to know to be a prisoner._ It sounded a bit like Lukas, and that sent a new wave of longing crashing over his thoughts.

"Hurry up!" Lovino snarled at him, and they broke out into another run. His smaller companion was frantic for some reason; it wasn't like they had been discovered yet-

"Halt!"

Lovino growled at the voice, and they spun around to find nearly a dozen men with their guns raised, all of which were pointed at them.

"Hands in the air; don't move!"

Their hands were up in an instant, but Lovino chanced a step forward in front of Mathias, blocking him with his small body like a human shield. The guards didn't shoot, only tightening their hold on their firearms.

"Come with us quietly, and we won't shoot." One of the nearly identical men demanded, his voice slightly muffled by his black helmet. "If you put up a fight, we'll be left with no choice."

"Sorry." Lovino grinned, the same savage, terrifying beast pressing against trembling, bending bars, eager to get out but not yet. _Not yet._ "We've got places to be." And then the Italian tipped backwards, falling towards Mathias.

He heard the first crack of a bullet, but his vision had disappeared, nor did he feel any bursts of pain, because the world around him had exploded once more into a warped reality that might focus if he really tried to peer into that endless swirl of colorful ribbons, but he didn't try, and it hypnotized him the same way it did to him before. He felt his feet hit the ground but that was it; his eyes had yet to adjust, and it seemed like they were somewhere quite dark. Then he blinked, and the world snapped into rightness, and he realized that it really wasn't all that dark: it must have been the black dots that were only now fading from his vision.

It looked like they were in another cell, only this one a little bit more spacious than Mathias's. There was only one light bulb flickering overhead, and there were four red dots in each corner of the room instead of a single one.

"Where…?" Mathias found himself speechless, not because they were back in a cell, but because…

"This must be the VIP room." Lovino must have been trying to be sarcastic, but there was a gravelly surprise that scratched his voice as well.

"But- VIP?" That didn't really make sense… did it?

"Yeah, VIP." A voice laughed, and Mathias felt himself freezing all over again, because this voice was not Lovino's, and this cell was not empty. There was a momentary flash behind his eyelids: a city filled with dark corners and poisonous lights, banners fluttering in the air, traitors hiding under the very shadows of Hell-

The man was chained, wrists chaffed and pale skin raw. His face was familiar somehow, but there was no name in the sharp bones and hollow cheeks. He had hair that seemed gray in the lighting, but reminded Mathias of Emil, whose hair shone gold in the sun but glowed snowy white beneath the moon, and his eyes, oh _God_ , his eyes…

"I _am_ a Very Important Prisoner after all."

Mathias stared, and he could look away, because Lukas had the eyes of the sea, Lovino stole his orbs from a beast, and it fascinated him before but now he stared because this was _fear_ because-

 _-like the scent that lured killers from the shadows into the light, dragging blades across stones to frighten its victims, hungry for murder, frenzy with bloodlust-_

-they were crimson.

* * *

"You're in luck," Tim said coldly, a sarcastic tint in his voice that made his accent – similar to Emma's – sound like a drawl. "Finding a grave is not very difficult. The only question is whether or not he actually _has_ a grave."

Lukas narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Mathias Køhler…" Emma spoke this time, and her voice was soft, almost frightened. "Three years ago, Mathias Køhler died."

"Died?" Emil scoffed softly, the first word he had spoken since arriving at the apartment. "Mathias Køhler isn't dead."

Emma began to protest, "Everyone in the Underworld has heard of his execution-"

"So you _are_ part of the Underworld," Lukas cut her off, though his mind was reeling. _Three years? Dead? Execution?_

"Of course we are." Nathan had a gentle voice, not as harsh as Tim's, although he also had the accent. "Why would we be replacing the BTT here if we weren't?"

His thoughts gave another jolt of shock. "Replacing?"

" _Ja_. The idiots need someone inconspicuous to look after their home while they are… gone. In our case, some- _ones._ "

"The Bad Touch Trio is gone," he repeated slowly. "Where are they?"

"Why do you need to know?"

And that sent them straight back to Square One.

"We're not trying to kill them, if that's what you want to know," Lukas answered coldly. "If you're not going to believe us about Mathias Køhler, then just know that we're trying to find the Bad Touch Trio because we need their help. The rest is none of your business."

His declaration was met with silence, the three 'replacements' of the Bad Touch Trio sharing a long, conflicted look. From the brothers' point of view, it looked more like Nathan and Emma trying to convince Tim of something through glances and subtle changes in their expressions until-

"Ugh, okay, whatever." Emma gave an exaggerated shrug and eye roll. "Tim, this is ridiculous; I'm going to tell them."

 _Yes, please._

"Thank _God_ ," Lukas heard Emil mutter beside him, barely audible.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt…" the girl began thoughtfully, "He's not exactly under the radar, you know? He's…"

"Loud," Tim offered.

"Rude," Nathan called from the kitchen.

"Obnoxious," Emma agreed. "And the Underworld had been after his head for years now. It was pretty smart, hiding right next to the Underworld base, but this is _Gilbert_ we're talking about. He's very good at standing out."

Nathan emerged from the kitchen, having stuffed all his groceries into some corner, and took his place beside Emma. Two similarly solemn green eyes focused on them now, and Lukas suddenly noticed how similar the two – in fact, all three of them – looked. Siblings, probably.

"What with his _outstanding_ personality," the younger brother was saying, "And super pale skin and white hair…"

"And his eyes," Emma added. " _Crimson_ eyes."

"Long story short," Tim spoke, "Antonio Fernández-Carriedo and Francis Bonnefoy have gone into hiding because Gilbert Beilschmidt has been arrested by the Underworld forces, and if he isn't dead yet, he will be soon."

"Why?" Lukas found himself asking. "Where did they send him?"

"A hanging prison," Nathan piped up.

"More like a shooting prison," corrected his sister. "Those sent there doesn't stay there very long. Got to get rid of them before they start to rot."

"It's funny, because the prison is outrageously huge," the younger brother added. "It's partly empty half the time, and if they do let the prisoner rot, it's so that they could suffer a slow, painful death. That's usually reserved for the people the Underworld really, _really_ hates."

Emma hummed in agreement. "Now to think of it though… Gilbert sounds like one of those people."

Nathan nodded in agreement. "Probably rotting alive in the place."

Lukas recoiled a bit at the thought, and heard Emil ask, "How do you know?"

"Tim used to work there!" the youngest of the three sounded strangely proud.

"Stranded in the middle of a forest in California in a boring metal labyrinth," the middle sister sighed. "How tragic."

"It's the only prison in the United States. And I don't work there anymore," the older brother sounded disgruntled that his siblings were spouting out everything he probably hadn't wanted them to say. "Although we still have contacts there."

At that statement, Lukas felt his hopes soar, so he dared to ask one more question: "When the Underworld captures a person out of vengeance, will they all be sent to the prison?"

"Most likely," Emma answered. "The prison is kind of like the first checkpoint before the roads start to split. You usually get checked up before being shipped off somewhere for some kind of trial that nobody knows or understands or would talk about, and then you come back with a strip of paper or something that tells the guards how to deal with you."

Nathan shrugged. "Not really, actually, but something akin to that. In the Underworld, no one really knows how anything works; you're given a job, you do it, no questions asked. Leave the plotting to the bosses."

"Whoever they are," Tim added.

Lukas was dizzy with all the extra information he had just been fed, but he had gotten what he needed, and he could only hope that he was correct.

Mathias had been captured by the Underworld, but to most of the people, if not everyone, in the Underworld, he is dead. So the only reason why they'd kidnap him would either be due to suspicion, or it was the situation with Emil: they hadn't been exactly subtle with that.

But if it was the latter… Why Mathias? Why not Lukas? And wouldn't the Underworld want to retrieve Emil as well, or was he too insignificant?

There were still so many questions despite all the answers he'd just been offered, but one step at a time: Mathias had been captured, and most likely, the first place he'd have been sent to would be… the Prison.

"If you know the Bad Touch Trio," he spoke slowly and cautiously, "Will you help us retrieve Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Tim spoke, "That man gives anyone who meets him a massive headache."

"He's exceptionally rude, not to mention ruthless. No tack at all." Emma sniffed disdainfully. "But…"

"He _is_ one of the best." Nathan held their counterargument. "The Bad Touch Trio vowed to bring down the Underworld; we would not be helping them if we did not trust their word on that."

"We'll help you." Emma gave their answer. "We won't go with you – the Underworld doesn't know about us yet and we'd like to keep the loyal status up, but we will contact a few people we know who can help you."

"I can contact Alfred F. Jones," Lukas offered. "He's an Underworld pilot who knew the Bad Touch Trio and I have his phone number. He should be able to take us to California."

"That'll work," Tim approved.

"We were trying to figure out whether we can get him out," his younger brother was saying happily. "Thankfully we've now got two brave souls to aid us."

Lukas lifted his phone to his ear, waiting and praying that Alfred and… whoever that was with him – will pick up the phone this time.

 _"Hello, the Hero's speaking!"_

 _"-Alfred, please be a bit more serious. It can be a business call-"_

"Brave souls." Somewhere on the side, he heard Tim mutter sarcastically, more to himself than to his brother. "More like two idiots."

* * *

 _She loved maps, and he had found this fascination strange. When he was first jolted awake by the harsh howling outside into warm darkness, the first thing his eyes adjusted to had been a map. It was a world map, ink on glossy brown paper that was supposed to give it the appearance of age. It was placed in frame and hung on the otherwise bare, white walls, and he had found himself tracing the borders of nations with his eyes, trying to identify those little dark shapes that peppered the map through the dimness when the door of that cozy little room had opened, a glowing streak of orange cutting into the darkness, and she entered._

 _She was not beautiful; a better word would have been 'cute'. She had a sweetness in her soft features that made him relax even if he had not known who she was, and the first thing she asked him was not whether he was comfortable, or how did he feel, or if he would like to eat something – preferably the bowl of porridge she held in her hands._

 _She asked him, "Do you like my map?"_

 _He hesitated. "It's very nice." But there wasn't anything special about it._

 _She sat on the edge of the bed, bowl in hand, the handle of a spoon peeking from the edge. "Eat," she urged in her accented voice, soft words with gentle yet rough hands feeding him with sweet warmth._

 _"Rest," she said, and he did._

 _The next time he woke, the curtains were being drawn open, and through the glass all he could see was a flurry of white. The wind hadn't stopped yet, and it had been the screams that haunted him through his dreams._

 _Her eyes were wide and bright, in a washed shade of frail blue. Her skin was pale in the gray light, white and soft, framed by light golden hair that was cut short above her shoulders. She wore a gray sweater that did nothing but accentuate her ample breasts, which he glanced at once and could not meet again._

 _"Would you like to see the map?"_

 _The wooden floor was icy beneath his feet, but he ignored it to concentrate on bending his stiffly trembling knees into submission and movement. She led him to the end of the bed, and sat him down, then bent to place his feet into a pair of soft, warm slippers._

 _Before him, trapped in a frame, was the world._

 _He was wrong. The map was unassuming from afar, but up close, it was like a treasure box: gemstones hidden in piles of colored glass. There were no names or labels on the map, but he noticed once again the little symbols that dotted it instead._

 _The empty black stars marked the capitals, it was obvious. He located Copenhagen, and Oslo, and Reykjavik, then Moscow. Before he could go on naming all the capitals he knew, his attention was caught by the little black hearts, nearly as numerous as the stars. Perhaps they were cities as well, and he noticed one around the area where Taastrup probably was. There was another over Bergen, and Saint Petersburg. And there were more, and others too: little raindrops, little blossoms… all of them were black, glistening on the brown parchment. He marveled at the mysterious symbols, wondering what they meant, and he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure where to begin._

 _That was when one particular symbol caught his eye._

 _It was located on the west coast of America, a small black feather poised in the process of drifting from the skies. It was the only one on the map, and he scoured through the rest of the world twice to check and confirm before lifting a heavy limb to point. His voice was cracking and broken with disuse, but he forced the question out: "What is that?"_

 _"The feather?" She pointed as well._ 'Deh fedehr,' _she said, trilling the last 'r' a little bit with the heaviness dropped on the final syllable. It was like she was trying to make her accent more prominent to entertain him._

 _"Yes," he confirmed._

 _"It marks a prison. The Prison."_

 _"Why?" Then changing his mind because he didn't want to ask such a broad question, "Why a feather?"_

 _"The feather is falling, you see," she gestured, pale hands like elegant white doves fluttering around her as she spoke. "It is black, like the feathers on the wings of a fallen angel." She pronounced 'angel' with a hard 'g'. "They put the falling feather over the Prison, because that's where the disgraced are. To be sent to the Prison, you have fallen from grace."_

They? _He was curious who_ 'they' _were, but he didn't ask, not when she started to laugh. It was soft and sad, so different from the boisterous cheering and crazed shouting he had grown accustomed to through the years of war and struggle._

 _"It's funny, you know," she was saying, and those blue eyes grew paler and brighter, washed white by tears that stubbornly refused to drop. But despite the tears, her voice remained steady. "They say the Prison is for the disgraced, but they also call themselves Hell. So aren't they really the fallen ones?"_

 _He did not reply, did not know how to reply; so he took one of her hands, surprisingly calloused but warm, and pressed a kiss on the pale back. She did not pull her hand away._

 _"See how the sky has fallen."_

 _She sighed soundlessly through the tears that began to fall, and refused to stop. She did not bother to wipe them away. Her voice was distant and grieving, barely audible over the blizzard outside._

 _"See how the heavens fall."_

 _The wind continued to howl._

* * *

 **Thanks for all the reviews, by the way.**

 **Also, I'm somewhat surprised that no one had noticed. I thought I've been dropping hints through Finding Emil _and_ Finding Mathias (the latter especially), but apparently that's not enough. Oh well. I wonder who'll be the first to notice...**

 **Thank you for reading, and please review! They are much appreciated!**


	9. Guards of Hell

**Hi!**

 **Warning: Weird pairing.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

Very Important Prisoner.

V.I.P.

Mathias wasn't sure if he should laugh – because admittedly, it was a pretty good joke – or cry – because the person who had made that joke was so goddamn _scary_.

If he hadn't talked, Mathias would've been sure that the monster hanging from the chains was dead, but he spoke, and he had smiled, baring his teeth like he was hungry, and he had looked at Mathias, and those crimson eyes had gleamed with something that sent shudders down his spine.

"My, my." The voice was familiar too, in a terrifying kind of way that sent red lights screeching with sirens in his head. It was weaker now perhaps, a bit raspier and less lively, but there was the same edge that came with one who walked hand in hand with death. "Isn't it our dear Mathias Køhler?"

"You know me?" Mathias blurted out, only mildly surprised. He did not know how many times that had happened, but it felt like a reoccurring situation that he was unconsciously getting used to.

His confusion was reflected off of the stranger's face. "You _don't_ know me?"

That's when Lovino decided to speak. "This guy," he nearly snarled, jabbing a thumb in his direction, "has short-term memory. So good luck if you're trying to get him to remember you."

"What?!" There was still a surprising amount of strength in this half-dead skeleton. "You never told me that!"

"I-," he paused. "I have short-term memory." He had forgotten what he had wanted to say, and for some reason, that had seemed like a reasonable substitute.

"Too late, buddy." The red-eyed man rolled his eyes, and for one moment he seemed to be standing with the pride a killer often did, back straight and chin high, defiance peaked in every hard line and angle forming this weapon of flesh. But then a wave of silence swept into the room, there was a weary sigh followed by the condemning rattle of chains as they pulled taut to hold their prisoner's weight while he sagged.

"Who are you?" Mathias asked almost timidly, just to break the silence.

"The name's Beilschmidt." If his hands were free, Mathias was sure the man would be speaking with more of a flourish, although his voice did a well enough job. "Gilbert Beilschmidt."

What a strange name, and just barely familiar, the same way it had been with Magyar. And then, because he was genuinely curious:

"How do I know you?"

"Oh, you don't know me." Gilbert Beilschmidt's voice was bitter. "But I know you. I've heard of your name three, four years ago, but didn't really care. I met you once on the streets, we talked, and then you – and the other one, Lukas, right? – was gone. But you helped me find and save my younger brother, and for that, I owe you one."

"You have a little brother?"

"Yeah, his name's Ludwig. He ran off with his two friends to Japan or China or Korea, I don't know. Haven't heard from him for quite a long time," and here, a bitter, broken bark of laughter that sounded half like a snarl, "Obviously."

For a moment, Mathias visibly pondered, and Lovino was about to ask Gilbert how he had gotten here when the tall blonde frowned. "I don't remember," he declared. And then he beamed widely before either Lovino or Gilbert could speak. "But that's okay! You're Gilbert, right?" Suddenly, for the first time, he seemed to notice the chains. "Why are you all tied up?"

Gilbert stared, then commented to Lovino, "He's nuts."

Lovino whole-heartedly agreed. But most of the people he had met were nuts, or bonkers, or something of the sort (and he had no doubt that Gilbert – if he could guess the reason to him being here – was no different), and he thought that perhaps he had already gotten used to it. It was difficult _not_ to when your own little brother had lost his mind right in front of you, and madness had become part of him when he had watched himself be killed by a child. Perhaps he was mad as well, and that was why it did not matter to him that all that was left of this world were shreds of memories and broken shards of vivid blue sky.

"I like nuts, but I am _not_ a chipmunk," Mathias argued, but his words were half obscured by the sound of metal screeching against metal as gears began to turn somewhere behind them, but discreetly enough that the distracted occupants did not notice.

Gilbert ignored Mathias, only repeating to Lovino, "He's _nuts_."

The Italian shrugged. "I guess I am too."

Behind them, the metal door of the cell slammed open.

* * *

Lukas woke at nine thousand meters above sea level to the sound of silence. There was something missing in the hollowness of the plane cabin, and he couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but he could feel the hair rising on the back of his neck, mind prickling with alarm.

"Hold on tight, boys!" Alfred called merrily from the pilot's seat, and the scene flashed momentarily to so many months ago, with Mathias beside him instead of his brother, in a quest of another part of the world.

Lukas blinked away the last shreds of drowsiness, and saw that the plane had stopped. In midair.

"What's happening?" Emil asked, but Lukas did not answer.

He remembered.

And for that one second, Lukas did not care about finding Mathias or meeting Emma and Tim and Nathan's contact in California as he wished for nothing more to be able to stand up and throttle the infuriating American in the pilot's seat because the world was silent around them, void of the usual drone of engines when gliding above the clouds, and the head of the plane was dipping, the body was slowly tilting perpendicular to the ground, blue sea glittering below them, and for one perfect moment, they were suspended between time and space and earth and sky-

And then the plane plummeted, towards the perfect blue below.

* * *

Vash Zwingli did not enjoy his job in the Underworld prison. He was trained to be a guard, yes, but that didn't mean he liked it. He'd much rather be a Trader – you'd make more money that way.

But if a letter addressed to you from Magyar ( _Magyar_ , of all people; how unlucky did you have to be to receive a letter from Magyar herself?) demanded you to haul your ass to the huge metal box in the middle of nowhere or else your sister dies a very painful death, you'd do it without too much hesitation. In return, Magyar had sent him another cute little message with a sweet little smiley face drawn after a short little message telling him what a _"good boy"_ he was and offering him the location of the lab that his sister was held in, and then told him that he'd better be even better if he didn't want that lab to blow up. If only she knew he'd do anything just so she could stop sending him letters.

He knew it had been a bad idea to try to escape the Underworld. He knew it would never be successful, but he had hoped, and hoped, and tried so hard because Lilli didn't belong in this world of darkness and sin, and now Lilli was paying the price for him. He had known all along that it had been a bad idea, and now it was too late: he was on Hell's blacklist – or maybe gray-list, considering the fact that he wasn't dead yet – and Satan's second-in-command was keeping a very close eye on him. His only consolation was that Satan himself had yet to gone after him (although considering the fact that China had only really gone after the legendary 'Viking', Vash doubted he would ever be significant enough to be bothered by that Devil's spawn).

And because Vash was stubborn and bold to the point of rudeness, he was going to make China and Magyar and all those other monsters who ruled the Underworld regret it. Not that he was trying to get his sister killed, of course. That was the only problem with his plan: that the other side still had leverage against him.

That was when he met Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Charged for treason, the extraordinary man was sentenced to a slow, painful death, and although that did not sit well with Vash, it certainly worked easily into his plan. He knew Gilbert Beilschmidt – not personally, of course, but there was rarely anyone in the Underworld who had not heard of – in a much ruder name – 'the White Demon'.

Of course, it was one name amongst many others, some that had echoed since before the birth of the Underworld.

China, for instance, who toppled the heavens and raised Hell.

Magyar, a legend that exceeded China, but stood beneath him.

The Magician of the North, a mystery that had made stories of Magyar sound like fairytales.

The Viking, the beast of the Scandinavia who had warranted a personal execution from China.

The Prussian, a monster who had rebelled from the heart of the Underworld, a serpent who struck swiftly and silently, and never faltered.

Until now.

Vash had been one of the guards to escort Gilbert Beilschmidt into his cell. Three days later, he was one of the guards to escort him out of the Prison for a quick checkup. He was not part of the group to escort him back, but as a guard, he had free access to the computers, and it was not difficult to find the cell he was held in.

His execution was death by starvation. They gave him water, but no food, and it became real ugly real quick.

Vash took three days to freeze the cameras in the Prussian's cell – he wasn't a professional hacker by any means, but an annoying French acquaintance from too many years ago had cheerfully taught him the basics, and cameras just weren't that difficult to access, so with his amateur skills in nearly everything that included infiltration, Vash Zwingli decided to save Gilbert Beilschmidt.

…For his own benefits, of course. He wasn't taking pity on the man, that was for sure. And he most definitely was not excited to be meeting a legend face to face, not at all.

But either way, on the fourth day, Vash checked the cameras one more time, wrapped a small loaf of bread with tissue, hid it in his pocket, and volunteered to bring their V.I.P. his daily dose of water.

It had been only half a week, but the situation already seemed quite bad. He entered a cell that smelled strongly of urine and unwashed bodies, and was met with the sight of a white ghost against the metal wall, chin against his chest and face hidden in the shadows. The man was motionless and silent, as if he was dead, but Vash's footsteps roused him, and a shiver shimmied up the guard's spine when the Prussian raised his head a fraction, dull red eyes zeroing in onto the canteen in Vash's hand, and then growled.

For one second, Vash doubted his plan of helping this demon for future benefits, but his trademark stubbornness urged one step after another, forcing him to crouch before the bars that cut the square room so that three-fourths was a prison cell and the final one-fourths was a short hall stretching horizontally across the edge of room.

He gingerly placed the canteen on the ground, and pushed it between two bars to the other side, where the prisoner bared his teeth at him. The door was closed behind him – not locked, but secure enough, though he still found himself peeking over the shoulder as he took the loaf of bread out of his pocket and unwrapped it. When he dared a glance at the monster sitting across from him, he found him staring at his hand and the bread in it. At that moment, Vash realized just how human Gilbert was: no longer a wolf, but a beaten hound.

"What are you doing?" The question was born through silence, and it was harsh sounds scraping against starvation.

"Do you want this?" Vash asked, offering the bread but not daring to stick his hand through the bars.

There was silence, Gilbert never taking his eyes off the loaf that might just actually save his life, nearly drooling, but unsure if it was a trap. Understandable, since he didn't know Vash, and the Prison guard uniform did not help. In the end, the prisoner decided that it was.

"You're evil."

"No, I'm not," Vash answered simply, and to prove his point, he tossed the loaf towards Gilbert-

Only for it to hit the bars with a small clang and skitter back towards him.

Well.

That was that.

Gilbert snickered, and Vash felt his face heating up. "Do you want this or not?" he demanded, his short temper taking advantage of him.

"Oh, I don't know anymore," the pale man replied in an airy voice. "It touched the ground."

Vash very nearly took a bite out of the bread just to spite him, but thought better of it, choosing instead to reach into the cell so he could chuck the loaf at the other blonde's head. The throw was accurate and precise, but it slapped against the palm of Gilbert's hand instead of his face, and right away, he began gnawing.

"Don't eat too fast," Vash warned him.

"Yeah, yeah." Vash wasn't going to care if he started puking all over the place because he couldn't control himself. "Geez, whatever."

Gilbert crawled forward and snatched up the water, taking a heavy gulp to wash down the dry bread. Vash watched him eat, and when he was done, he spoke. "I am going to get you out of here."

The Prussian said nothing, observing him as he sipped at the water. Vash waited, and several minutes passed before Gilbert put the empty metal cup down. "Now why the hell are you going to do that?"

And then Vash looked at him directly in the eye, green meeting red and the dreadful words rolled from the tips of his tongue. "I need your help."

Gilbert threw back his head and gave a bark of laughter. "Might as well sell your soul to a devil, boy." But the grin on those lips was exactly that: the White Demon. "You'd be better off that way."

Vash rolled his eyes but otherwise remained expressionless as he stood, Gilbert watching his every move. "Fine." And in a small, cheeky act of sass, he pointed right at the albino and declared, "I choose you, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

The Prussian was quick to scowl. "I'm not a-,"

But the guard was already gone, and the cell door was locked once more.

* * *

"Was that really necessary?" Lukas nearly snarled at the American pilot, fighting the urge to claw that stupid smile off his face. And anyways, both of his hands were occupied, one somewhat supporting Emil, who was clinging onto his arm and wringing the life out of that limb, while the other soothingly rubbed the younger boy's back while he hurled into the public toilet.

"Aw, come on, it wasn't that bad!" Alfred looked like he was about to good-humoredly slap Lukas' shoulder, but then noticed the glare and quickly thought better of it.

"You're dismissed," Lukas told him coolly, and watched him exit the bathroom with a sheepish smile, heading to where Matthew waited for them outside with his stuffed bear. Then to his brother, who had stopped heaving and merely stood there, bent over the toilet bowl, panting heavily, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible, but better." Emil groaned as he forced himself upright, stumbling to the sink to rinse out his mouth. Lukas waited for him outside, shielding his eyes from the Californian sun (wasn't it almost winter?).

"Are you… Mister Lukas Bondevik?" a meekly accented voice asked from the side, and Lukas spun around to find a dark-haired man peering at him with wide, dark green eyes.

"…Yes…" Lukas confirmed slowly, unsure if this was Emma and her brothers' contact or a trap. "And you are?"

"My name is Milen Dimitrov." The man offered a hand and a soft smile. "I was contacted by Miss Abel to be your guide."

Lukas relaxed and took the hand. "Thank you."

"No need." There was something about Milen that Lukas liked. Maybe it was the sharp contrast of the man's personality with everyone else's around Lukas: he was not overly annoying or noisy despite being cheerful and relaxed in his surroundings, but he wasn't silent to the point of rudeness either. There was nothing cynical or plotting in his gentle smile, and nothing mocking or fake in his tone of voice. Lukas was very comfortable with Milen – it was a pity the man was also an Underworld Prison guard. "So, shall we get going?"

"Wait one moment," Lukas said, just as Emil emerged from the bathroom, wiping his face with a paper towel.

Milen blinked in the direction of the boy, slightly bewildered. "Is he coming with us?"

"Yes."

"You're _not_ coming with us?" The guard pointed at Alfred, who grinned and shrugged. Matthew was completely ignored.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," Milen Dimitrov was quick to amend. "It would just be a bit more difficult sneaking him into the Prison. But we'll find a way."

With a quick goodbye to the Underworld pilots, Emil and Lukas followed Milen to a small black car, where they found themselves in the back seat trying to ignore the overpowering sense of fast food. As the vehicle backed onto the road and began to speed away from the public toilet they had stopped at, the guard began to share his plans.

"It'll be lunch break soon, and I volunteered to get something for the others, thus the smell, sorry." He gestured sheepishly at the pile of McDonald's takeaway sacs in the passenger seat. "My plan is to basically deliver everything in first while the two of you wait for a moment in the car, and while the other guards are having a small party, I'll come out and take you guys to the Prussian."

"Who?" blurted Emil.

Milen blinked at them through the rear view mirror. "The Prussian."

"We heard the first time," Lukas told him. "Who is the Prussian?"

The Prison guard was confused. "Don't you know who the Prussian is? Aren't you the ones looking for him? White hair, red eyes – I'm not mistaken, am I?"

"You mean Gilbert Beilschmidt?" Lukas tried to confirm, but Milen shrugged.

"Is that his name? That's pretty cool. We just call him the Prussian, or the White Demon, and all I know is that he's Prisoner #2874. And he's some kind of superman!"

"Is he now?" Lukas replied drily.

Their driver nodded vigorously. "We're supposed to starve him to death – orders from superiors, we've got no choice – but it's been nearly a month, and he's still alive!"

"That's cool and all," Emil spoke, sounding ever so slightly confused, "but aren't we trying to find Mathias?"

"Mathias?" Milen echoed the question.

"Mathias Køhler." Lukas was quick to jump in. "He's also in that prison, and we're looking for him."

"So are you looking for Gilbert Beilschmidt or Mathias Køhler?" The car swerved, and they were suddenly surrounded by trees, winding up a path over a small hill.

"Mathias." Although Gilbert might be a bonus. You'd never know when a life debt from an Underworld assassin would come in handy.

Milen visibly deflated, nearly hugging the wheel with an expression of despair. "I have no idea who that is."

"It's okay," Lukas assured him, "We'll find him."

"I'll have to get you to the computers then," the guard decided. "We keep all the prisoners' numbers and information there. There are pictures, so it shouldn't be that hard. The only problem now would be avoiding the other guards and getting to his cell, then we get him out, is that okay?"

"Yes." Lukas was relieved. "Thank you so much."

Milen's smile was tight, nervous. "Thank me when you've gotten him out."

Before them, a gray building loomed. It was only one story tall, but gave the impression of a giant. Lukas could only see two dark-tinted windows on its surface, most of the rectangular structure hidden behind the dense forest around it. There was one door, not very big or obvious, and the dark trees and heavy aura of the building made the small parking lot they drove into all the more claustrophobic.

Milen eased into the last empty spot, and flashed them a quick thumbs-up and a nod before grabbing the bags next to him and left the car. The brothers watched him stroll up to the imminent construction and disappear through that tiny opening in the smooth, metal grey face. Ten minutes, maybe twenty minutes passed; the car was silent, both Lukas and Emil barely seemed to be breathing, and then a small figure emerged again.

Milen Dimitrov approached the car and ushered them out, and the three followed the edge of the forest before cutting quickly through the open space of the parking lot, hurrying towards the entrance. Lukas could feel something staring a hole into the small of his back, and could only pray that no one was checking the cameras at the moment. The three of them shouldered through the single, sturdy metal door, and Lukas found himself staring at a dull, metal surface that ran horizontally towards left and right. From his left came the sound of loud voices and laughter as the guards enjoyed their lunch the best they could in such a gloomy place.

"This way." Milen beckoned quickly, moving towards the right, but Lukas found himself momentarily staring in the other direction where there was a patch of warm orange light against the metal walls, shifting with movement and shadows inside a different room where it didn't reek as strongly of cold metal and hopeless death.

"Lukas," Emil hissed, tugging at his sleeve, and it took effort for Lukas to turn away, towards a long hallway running a hundred meters or so to his right before a sharp turn somewhere. His limbs felt strangely heavy at that moment, and taking the first step in that direction felt like a step towards the gallows.

And it might as well be just that, as Lukas followed a guard into the stomach of the Prison.

* * *

 _A common man sees what you teach him and eats what you feed him._

 _A blind man sees the world in parallel to the constant humming of life and short bursts of light through eternal darkness._

 _A madman, however, sees the world in layers:_

 _The first – the pure. The children, the dreamers, the hopers._

 _The second – the foolish. The common man, perhaps, and those who were led to believe that they were very clever._

 _The third – the cowards. Those who laugh and pretend while clawing at each others' throats and reaching for illusions that are mere wisps compared those who knew how to dream. He sees them often: powdering their faces, painting their lips, adding an extra ruffle to an extra layer of skirt; sliding needles into their hair, knives in their shoes, poisons up their sleeves. It becomes so easy to locate them in a crowd because they hid behind masks that render their eyes more useless than a blind man's._

 _And it was strange, it was wondrously strange, shocking even, when he found the biggest coward in the world. And that man stood beside him, and had watched him speak the words of maniac._

 _The man's smile was like a viper's, but somehow, it was soft. His face was sculpted granite, all sharp angles and ugly contours. A silver mask covered the top half of his face, hiding his eyes, and it was difficult to imagine that once (many times, really, but it all started with this_ once _), he had kissed those cruel lips while drunk on something that had burned down his throat but drowned out the voices in his head and drenched the pain inside him so he knew and understand no more of the world in rightness; and it was difficult to believe that once (if only just once, but it wasn't. It_ wasn't _.) he had peeled off that mask and closed his eyes against those horrid scars and milky, unseeing eyes, and had remembered years ago, how he had been young and handsome and proud and righteous, with bright, sharp green eyes – so different from that of his Liet's: an echo of deep, sorrowful emerald. It was awful to know that he had somehow not been disgusted as he slept beside this man who now pointed a gun at his head._

 _He laughed. "Isn't it funny?"_

 _"What is?" Good-humored as always, but he hated that handsome curl of those lips. No longer young, but handsome nonetheless, even through a hideous mask, and always, forever proud._

 _But never righteous. There is no righteousness in Hell._

 _"This." He marveled at how he wasn't frozen in fear yet – madness did things to you that would always be a surprise, no matter how many years it grew in you. His voice was airy; his hand gave a dismissive wave, sweeping around him and gesturing at the entire world around them._

 _"Is it now?" His voice was dangerous, his hand was shaking. "I don't see how you can find your death so amusing, kitty."_

 _Kitty. Another strange echo of a past he did not know, and somehow, it was reflected onto him._

 _"It's not my death that's, like, funny," he told the man with the gun. "But I do find one thing frankly, seriously quite hilarious. And ironic, really."_

 _The man hummed in acknowledgement, not really understanding or caring about the words of a madman._

 _"Funny how a blind man should be the head of Hell."_

 _He finally listened. The smile disappeared. Animals grinned until the final moment before they pounce. Beasts smiled until they show their fangs. "Funny how the man who knows the death of every single person in this world could not see the time of his own death." There was no humor in his voice._

 _And there was none in his own. "I don't need to see. I've always known."_

 _"You're a lunatic."_

 _He grinned. "You're a traitor."_

 _The empty face was torn apart by a snarl punctuated by a growl. The shaking hands steadied, the gun angled and aimed, the silence was clear._

 _There was nothing more to be said._

 _"Goodbye,_ _Sadık."_

 _The gunshot pierced through the air, echoing in open space, and Sadık Adnan watched as the body jerked from impact of the bullet, blood trailing in single droplets as it stood still for one moment, then tilted, then began to fall, and then it toppled over the side of the building and disappeared from view._

 _Casually, he pocketed the gun and strolled to the side of the building, whistling a small tune to himself. Down through the air, at the end of a long drop, he watched the body of Feliks_ _Ł_ _ukasiewicz splatter and crack open onto the pavements below._

* * *

 **Hello! I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, which had been a grand total of... 1 person! So thank you, Anonymous, for your wonderfully encouraging review. It's nice to know that at least someone is enjoying the story.**

 **Everyone else though... Is a review really too much to ask for? I value reviews more than favorites and follows, so I'd really appreciate it if you tell me _something_. Doesn't matter what, it doesn't even have to be related to the story. I'd just like to hear from my readers. Thank you!**


	10. Metal Maze

****Warning: Swearing****

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

It must be some kind of miracle, or maybe they were just plain stupid.

The cell doors of the 'V.I.P Rooms' were made of heavy metal with as many digital locks as there were physical, and considering that between the two cold sheets of metal were a mass of gears and screws and other fancy gadgets, there were _a lot_ of locks.

Opening the door was no easy business, requiring several passwords, codes, identifications, and actual keys, and if it wasn't difficult, it was at the very least loud.

So imagine all their surprise when the door opened very suddenly after several minutes of very loud maneuvering, and lo-and-behold! there stood a guard.

There was that comical one second when both sides – three prisoners and one guard – stared at each other, unsure of what to do. Silence reigned, and Mathias and Lovino exchanged a quick glance. The guard stiffly unfroze from his position just outside the door and stepping into the cell room in jerky, hesitant movements. His entire body was rigid as he turned and gingerly pushed the metal door shut, but did not lock it. He barely stood over Mathias's shoulder, but there was an icy aura around him that shot straight at the two escaped prisoners when the guard spun around to glare at them with intense green eyes. His golden blonde hair was chin-length, framing his face in gentle but scruffy waves, giving him an almost feminine look if not for his militaristic stance and harsh expression.

Once again, there was only silence, and Lovino shifted on his feet, wondering if he should scream, swear, or grab Mathias and get the hell out of here. Maybe all three at once.

And just when he was about to draw in the breath for the loudest F-bomb he had ever dropped, Gilbert Beilschmidt snorted.

Then, he started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backwards, and the chains pulled taut as his bodyweight yanked against its hold.

"What's so funny?" the guard demanded, voice brash and loud, but there was a pink tint to his cheeks that made him look more like a child about to throw a tantrum.

The albino answered him with more of his strange, throaty chuckles, but then he convulsed once and began coughing, hacking breaths racking through his entire body as an expression of pain flitted over his sallow face.

The guard was on his side immediately, a slight look of panic blowing his eyes wide as he coaxed water from a canteen into Gilbert's mouth and down his throat even while he continued to cough. Water dribbled down his chin and dripped onto his shirt, but neither the prisoner nor the guard cared as Gilbert took a deep breath and then another gulp of water. His coughing began to ease.

Both Lovino and Mathias watched on in silence, curious at the guard's reaction to the well-being of Gilbert. They watched the guard hold the chained prisoner steady, offering him more water, and then – to their amazement – half a McDonald's hamburger. Gilbert sipped at the water first, clearing his throat before pointing a finger at the guard while another hand accepted the burger, a wide grin splitting across his face. "You know what I find so funny?"

The guard huffed, crossing his arms with an expression of annoyance on his fact. "Enlighten me, please."

"Yes, please do," Lovino added.

Gilbert coughed once more to clear his throat before answering with that infuriating grin still in place. "You here," he pointed at Vash "is being all big bad guy to our two visitors, when a week ago, you were going on about the heroes of the Fall."

The guard's – Vash's face flushed once more. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Gilbert shrugged, but his eyebrows were raised in amusement. "What was it that you were telling me again…? Right, the Viking. He was a 'stubborn-ass revolutionist who sacrificed everything to keep and defend the goodness of this world', to quote you a bit. 'He was a legend even while he was alive, that is how a hero should be li-'"

"Shut up!" Vash's face was bright crimson and puffed up indignantly, stomping his feet for emphasis but only succeeding in giving him even more of a childish impression. The barrage of exclamation marks that followed did not help his case at all. "Shut up! Now you're just trying to embarrass me! This is completely off topic! Answer my question!"

And Gilbert must be the most sadistic creature on Earth to be able to watch this pathetic display and still continue his taunting tone. "But Vash, I did! You see, _he_ ," now he gestured at Mathias with a flourish of his hands that sent the chains on his wrists rattling, "is the Viking."

Vash's expression was priceless as he spun to stare at Mathias, who blinked, clueless and airheaded as always, and waved cheerfully back at the guard. The astonishment vanished as quickly as it had come, and then the guard was snarling at the albino, "You're lying. There's no way that that idiotic-looking idiot is-"

"But he is." Gilbert clucked his tongue at the shorter blonde, shaking his head as if disappointed. "You should have more trust in me if you are planning to free me and then use me as a tool to save your sweet little sister from the labs. And that was a pathetic insult – you should be ashamed."

Vash ignored the jab. "The Viking is dead!"

"I like Vikings," Mathias said placidly to Lovino, who watched on with furrowed brows and a fierce scowl. "I don't remember much about them but they seem very coo-"

"Shut up," the Italian snapped back viciously. Mathias whined like a kicked puppy but closed his mouth, observing from the sidelines as Lovino forced himself into the conversation by a single strong word shot directly between the prisoner and the guard. "Labs?"

"That is none of your business," Vash was quick to shoot him down.

"What is or is not my business will be up to me," Lovino retorted, matching Vash's glare with the same amount of intensity.

"You're #2469." The guard spat out the number as if it was an insult, and judging by his expression, it was probably meant to be.

It did not so much as ruffle the brunet. "My name is Lovino Vargas and you will refer to me as such."

"What does the prisoner renowned for his escape attempts want from a prison guard?"

"Not any prison guard, apparently." Lovino smirked, and his green eyes flashed dangerously. "One willing to betray his comrades for his little sister."

"Do you have a problem with that?" Vash did not break his glare but his stance shifted, chin lifting in the air as if daring Lovino to challenge him.

"No, no," the Italian laughed, waving dismissively. He talked the way a prince might: casual, but confident in the way that his word seemed absolute. He spoke in riddles that were truths, and Mathias watched the silent beast purr in delight. "In fact, quite the contrary. I am looking for my brother, and coincidentally, he is in the labs."

Vash's chin dipped as he mulled over the words and scrutinized Lovino. "Why should I trust what you say?"

"Why should _I_ trust _you_?" Lovino challenged.

The guard huffed in almost-amusement. "Fair point." He seemed to ponder for some time before abruptly turning to Gilbert, who had been observing the two with wide-eyed fascination. "Turns out, Prussian, it seems like I no longer need your services. I have discovered a less bothersome and possibly more reliable acquaintance."

Lovino couldn't decide if the horror on the albino's face was real or fake, but it was funny nonetheless, and he made sure that his bark of laughter was extra scathing and wicked.

"You- You-," Gilbert spluttered, and Lovino laughed again. "You stole my client!"

"Sucks to be you."

The albino decided to change tactics and turned to Vash. "Traitor!"

"You've just figured that one out?"

Gilbert was helplessly trapped between the two sadistic, sarcastic beasts, and it was quite entertaining watching it but- oh _no don't_ drag him into this- "Mathias, you got to help me! Do something!"

"What?" Maybe he could do something, and maybe he had wanted to do something to help this person who had turned out to be a friend he couldn't remember, but the moment he faced the two pairs of vivid green eyes simultaneously staring at him, daring him to do _anything_ … Mathias gulped. "Well…"

"Fate! Cursed fate!" It was doubtful that God would ever aid a killer, and cursing karma was probably not going to do anything to help him. "Why am I surrounded by such horrid people?"

"Sucks to be you," Lovino repeated while Vash rolled his eyes at the albino's antics.

"Honestly, I was kidding. I'm still getting you out of here."

"I know," Gilbert grinned. "You're too honorable to turn your back on a deal."

"What about us?" demanded Lovino, turning an intense look to the short blonde.

Vash was silent, mulling it over. He was a Prison guard, helping one prisoner escape was risky enough…

But Lovino was special, they all knew it. They weren't sure _how_ , but there was something about #2469 that frightened most; some _aura_ or _ability_ that made the guards laugh nervously when they see him in his cage, but scamper off with their tails between their legs when he escaped.

And he escaped.

Several times, in fact, and each time he had seemed just as inclined to leave, and that made him dangerous enough that they'd drug his food every day. For some reason though, that rarely seemed to affect him.

Maybe it was the way he could walk out of his cell with the door still locked behind him as if he had popped right out from the walls, or it was simply the way he grinned, and spoke, and fled – not like a coward, but like an exhilarated beast. Vash felt his lungs expand, drawing in a deep breath; he turned to the silent king of monsters who stood before him, stared it back in the eye, and tied a leash around its pale, open throat. "It'd be my honor."

The monster lurking beneath the skin of Lovino Vargas peered at him through golden-green orbs, and grinned.

* * *

The Prison reminded him of the labs. The same metal walls that created a winding maze of corridors and rooms and cells with numbers streaking past, the same flickering white and yellow lighting, the same frozen air that was swelling with swallowed screams. The only minute difference was that the reek of death was stronger than ever.

The labs had been clean. Disinfectant everywhere, men and women in pristine white lab coats pointing polished silver needles at their little white mice, the white-tiled floors scrubbed until it shone. If anyone died, wherever their bodies went, it was covered up well and completely.

Here, they didn't even bother to hide it. It didn't _reek_ of carrion, but there was that terror, that cold, lifeless hopelessness that had permeated the entire prison, and it didn't _reek_ , but he gagged and swallowed his bile. He felt some of that old pain from his mangled right arm coming back, whether it was from the cold or fear, he didn't know, but his bones creaked as he followed his brother and the guard into the maze of metal, and his flesh jumped and his skin crawled.

"Nobody should be here right now." Milen's sudden voice made him start ever so slightly, but no one noticed. "There's usually no one here anyway, since we have patrols everywhere, and if someone had escaped or is missing, we'd find out right away. The cameras are just for precaution."

They entered a room, perhaps the same size as the cells they've already passed, and it was half filled with black-and-white screens and wires.

"Here," Milen gestured. There was a single laptop connected to the many screens that flickered behind it. Its own screen was dark, but lit up when the guard swiped a finger over the touch pad and entered the password. Files and documents were already opened, and they popped up when they logged in, but Milen ignored them and opened a new folder. "We only have the barest information for most of the prisoners, usually just a picture, number, and cell number. Some have their trial results, but those really aren't much to look at either.

"Now, assuming that this Mathias is still alive…" Milen opened a new document and beckoned the brothers over. "He should be here. Scroll through it, you should recognize him through a picture, and then we'll track him down with the information we can get."

"Thank you." Lukas decided to ignore Milen's first comment about Mathias, but sometimes being optimistic was just so damn difficult. He began scrolling through the pages quickly, skimming over the faces and numbers. Several minutes later, he was still pressing the 'down' button, and that was when he dared to check how long the list actually was.

He nearly choked, because _oh no,_ nearly _two hundred pages_ really isn't too much for them to handle. They weren't in a hurry _at all_.

"Isn't there a faster way to do this?" he hissed, but Milen just shrugged.

"We don't really use the documents, so they're not very well-organized-,"

A screeching sound pierced through the metal walls and the Prison guard froze, green eyes wide as a siren began to blare in the distance. Then, as if they were being set off one by one, the shrill screaming of an alarm rushed closer until it filled the entire building, their room included. Lukas could barely hear Milen's words above the sound.

"An escaped prisoner." Then as if he had shed a face and set another in place, Milen Dimitrov moved swiftly towards the door, the kind light gone from his dark green eyes when he opened the door and was washed by flaring red lights. "I have to go. But keep searching, I'll be back."

The door swung shut, and Lukas began to scroll again, but this time with shaking hands while the terrified screeching continued to echo along the walls.

* * *

It was complete madness, but somehow, so far at least, it was working. There were guards stationed at nearly every corridor and several at the only exit of the Prison, but Lovino still held the map of the metal box, and Vash had worked here long enough that he was able to draw the quickest path to the front doors. Now the only challenge was not being seen. Vash simply had to stroll out the Prison with a flash of his card to the guards in front, but neither Lovino nor Mathias could turn invisible, and part of their master-plan relied on them being able to sneak out without stirring up a big scene. And Vash, that asshole, didn't even give them a suggestion before setting the stone rolling.

It was moments like these that Lovino could truly appreciate his own genius.

Yes, perhaps they couldn't be invisible, but Lovino knew that they couldn't see him on camera, and they couldn't see through walls either. As for Mathias… it shouldn't hinder them too much. Everyone knew the guards didn't check the cameras all that often anyway.

He still had the ridiculously detailed map, but for once, especially now that he had a clear path to the exit, he was glad for the details.

No guard saw them, but hopefully they didn't hear any of the surprised yelps from the prisoners' cells either. By jumping from cell to cell, directed by the line of a simple red marker, plenty of prisoners saw them, but they hated the guards enough not to blab, and so the guards remained blind.

The final hurtle was a long jump from a cell out the prison (he wondered why he had never done this before. It was so quick and easy), and he watched Mathias – all brawns and no brains – jump onto the nearest guard, jabbing his pressure point on his neck, took the rifle that slipped out of his hand, knocked another guard unconscious with the butt of the weapon, spun, rammed the other end into another man's stomach, kneed him in the face, pushed the dazed man into two other guards, dropped the rifle, smashed two more faces into the gray wall behind them, dug in his heel, aim with another rifle in his hand, and singlehandedly took out the dozen guards stationed by the exit.

Lovino's ears were ringing from the shots, but he found himself grinning, and that grin widened even more when an annoyed voice called, "What are you idiots just standing there for?"

Vash had stolen one of the identical black Mercedes Benz's that probably belonged to the Underworld, and they sped out of the parking lot, trees cutting into their view just before more guards, hearing the shots that had echoed through the too-silent forest, emerged from the prison to find bleeding and unconscious men clogging the doorway.

Mathias watched the trees flying past them in fascination, but his mind was evidently still back by the Prison gate. "That was fun!"

"I can't believe it actually fucking worked." But joy and exhilaration was evident in Lovino's voice, and the last few words were lost to the frantic beat of wind that rushed against his face as he rolled down the car window.

The air had never been so fragrant, so reviving. The coolness of the wind had never been so refreshing. How sweet was freedom! Lovino took a deep breath, eyes wide to the colors that were more than grey walls and white floors and black and white uniforms. He never thought he would miss colors so much, but there it was: a simple forest, an endless stretch of trees, yet so vibrant and alive with so many colors that for once, he thought that he might paint. Perhaps for once, he might be able to capture those brilliant shades and details in steady strokes of brush and soft panels of paint the way his brother was so talented in.

Abruptly, he shivered, and Lovino quickly rolled up the window again. Suddenly, his hands were clammy, his chest felt tight, his stomach churned.

 _Fool_ , he chastised himself, wiping his palms on his pants, scowling silently. _This wasn't some kind of field trip._

"I suggest you two to change." Vash gestured at a pile of light blue clothes on the passenger seat.

Mathias grabbed them and handed a set to Lovino. "Why?"

Vash shrugged nonchalantly, but his expression was grim and his voice was strained. "The Underworld thought that it'd be ironic if a lab was disguised as a small hospital."

Lovino let out a bark of laughter, the sound harsh and bitter. "They did that in Australia too. A dentist clinic, for Heaven's sake."

"What?" Mathias glanced at the two. "I don't understand."

The Italian rolled his eyes. "Just get dressed, Køhler." Then to the Prison guard, "Are you sure she's still there?"

Vash scowled, grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. "You better pray that she is, Vargas, because if my sister is dead, the deal is off."

"What's so special about her anyway?"

Now Vash forced a smile, and it was an ugly, twisted thing. "You should know better than anyone else, Lovino Vargas. Is it true that they burned your corpse in the Australian lab?"

Lovino's scowl deepened, and he turned his back on the conversation to change.

* * *

The screeching refused to stop. He thought that perhaps it would never stop, and his mind would forever be spinning and flashing like the red alarms washing over the grey metal halls.

Nearly two hundred pages. Endless pictures, words, lists, numbers. His eyes now barely skimmed over the foreign faces, some no doubt gone, some still trapped somewhere in this metal box. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control into a dark, gobbling presence somewhere in the back of his head. Piece by piece, page by page, picture by picture, each crumbled and drifted away, twirling and dancing its way into the black hole that sucked and pulled and-

"Lukas."

Lukas jerked, finger momentarily leaving the 'down' button. The pages stopped rolling; the words came into focus, the picture only half registering as an unknown face. He stared into those stranger's eyes, unable to turn around to meet his own brother. "Did you see him?"

"No." There was a pause, a swallow, then silence. Lukas began to scroll again, this time much more slowly. They were nearing the end of the document, and still no Mathias Køhler. "Lukas."

 _Patience_ , he told himself, barely hearing Emil call his name. He cannot miss him, not when they were so close to finding him.

The pages stopped. Irritated, he tapped the 'down' button a few more times, but the document refused to budge. They had reached the end of the list of prisoners. Heart nearly stopping, Lukas began to search upwards – he must have missed him somewhere, there were so many-

"Lukas," Emil insisted but the sirens had rendered the older brother deaf and blind to everything but his thoughts and expectations.

"I've found him," Lukas murmured, slightly unbelievingly. He was frozen in two pages above the end. Then he turned on the chair, overwhelmed with relief, eager to show the results of the miserable search. "Emil- Emil?"

There was something strange about his brother: his skin was pale and clammy, blue veins scrawling through the thin layer as if he was suffocating; his violet-blue eyes were wide, pupils contracted, and he was trembling violently.

Documents abandoned, number – _#2473_ – pushed against the side of his skull, nearly forgotten, but there was iciness seeping through his skin where he felt his brother's forehead, freezing him to the bone. "Emil, what's wrong?"

"I-I don't know." His teeth were chattering too, and he shrugged, even if he _did_ know. This dread, this horror – he had felt it before, and it had haunted his nightmares where he was trapped underground in tunnels of metal, ground covered in corpses and a slender snake slithering up his leg to whisper beside his ear. This was more than fear, more than paranoia: an animal lived in every single vessel, and there was something prowling, whimpering, struggling against the chains and cages and crying out in animalistic prediction. He couldn't help but repeat again, "Lukas."

"You'll be okay." His brother's voice was low and steady, soothing and calm, the hand rubbing down his shoulders and back meant to comfort, yet the alarms blaring outside had somehow manifested inside of him, and the sound was overriding everything else.

"Lukas, I have a bad feeling about th-,"

At that moment, the door slammed open.

Lukas spun around, and found himself staring down the muzzle of a rifle.

* * *

 **I am a horrible person. I am so, so, so, _so_ sorry, I cannot apologize enough. There I was, going on about how I want you to review, then when people actually went on and _did it_ , I made you all wait for over a month and come back with a chapter that was not as high quality as I would like it to be.**

 **But that aside!**

 **THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed. It warms my heart so, so much, it's wonderful. Thank you again, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	11. Brothers and Sisters

**Happy (very late) New Year! I**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

"Who are you?" It was not Milen, nor anyone he could possibly know. Not with the gun between them. The guard's face was half-obscured by his cap, but Lukas could easily sense the hostility and bloodlust as the guard took a pressing step forward, the muzzle of the rifle digging into his chest. "I asked you a question, pretty boy."

Lukas's chin lifted in indignant defiance. "That is none of your business."

The guard was grinning, but it wasn't friendly. "The fact that you are here but I've never seen you before makes it very much my business."

"You can't take us."

"We didn't say we were going to." There was an ugly click, and Lukas tensed, his hands useless in the air with no weapons or anything to defend himself. "Although if you're being so insistent, we can always do that."

But there was a weight in his pocket, and it wasn't much in a life-death situation but it was small ray of hope.

The guards began to advance in Lukas's silence, and Emil, half hidden behind him, pulled on the back of his shirt urgently and frightfully. He did not dare move, not when he was so vulnerable to the killing machines in the guards' hands, but as he panicked his brain gave a sudden click, and when he spoke it was in a language that he hadn't thought he remembered and he knew Emil would only be able to understand him through context, but he used it anyway.

 _"Lillebror,"_ he called softly, and there was another tug on his shirt in response. _"Pust og løp."_

 _Breathe and run._

There was a strangled cry behind him.

Pictures flashed in his mind: low stance, feet poised; mysterious words, strange warnings.

The moment the guards shifted, his weight dropped, knees bent, body balanced on the pads of his feet the way he had seen Mathias do before. His hand grabbed something cold and hard in his pocket, and in one simple motion, Lukas tossed his phone towards his brother, and barreled right into the nearest guard.

From the corner of his eye, he watched his brother vanished.

 _-toppled the pillars holding up the sky-_

And then the world crumbled.

* * *

Once again, it was white walls, white floors, disgustingly clean air with a tint of disinfectant.

The UDW hospital was very high-class, very expensive, relatively small, but mostly empty. To most it was because it was too expensive for common people to afford, but anyone remotely associated with the Underworld knew better.

Lovino mildly pitied the actual patients of the hospital, who were completely clueless about what was hidden behind white curtains and blankets and smiles. The Californian lab had existed for a longer time than the Australian one, and for one morbid moment he wondered how many people had died and been disposed of in this place.

There was an eerie silence blanketed over the section they were in, hushed voices whispering from somewhere too far away. The only person they've met so far was the receptionist, a gentle, smiling lady with a forgettable face who had cheerfully pointed them towards a hallway with an offer of a room number when Vash had passed her a slip of paper that somehow distinguished them from normal patients.

There was nothing special about the room: the same white walls and tiles, a narrow hospital bed pushed to one side, and three chairs next to it, but there was a tiny red eye peeking at them in one corner, and although he knew nothing of him would show up in the cameras, he felt the back of his neck prickling from that awful sensation of being watched.

Vash led them to the room, but stopped outside the door. "I can't stay here for long. They know my sister is here, so they'll be keeping an eye on me. Remember: get Lilli and get out. If you want to save the Prussian, this is the best chance you've got. Good luck." The guard spoke militarily and solemnly, and for one moment, Lovino was tempted to click his heels with a salute and a _"Yes sir!"_ just to mock him a bit, but decided against it. The eye was still watching, and Vash talking to them was suspicious enough.

"Just go," he urged him.

Vash gave a curt nod, and turned to leave, only to be met by a small, wide-eyed boy in the white hospital staff uniform. The blonde gave a start, but composed himself, tipping his head at the newcomer in acknowledgment, and marched out of the hospital.

The boy entered the room, large violet eyes darting between the two men. He closed the door, but didn't lock it, choosing instead to stand by it as if that would be able to prevent the two prisoners from escaping. He had a head of light caramel curls that he kept tugging anxiously at, and he looked fifteen at the very most, his small stature nearly drowned in the stiff white coats, small hands fumbling with an oversized clipboard. However, when he spoke, he sounded anything but fourteen. "Welcome to the Californian laboratory, where you will be inspected and tested for any disorders or diseases before being sent back to the Prison. You are expected to sit quietly in the chairs until the assigned time of appointment, where you will be escorted to an available doctor. Please do not try to do anything: we have cameras and guards all over the hospital. Any sudden moves or attempts of escape will be detained, and you will be immediately terminated. Thank you for your cooperation."

Mathias did not seem to be listening, but Lovino could feel ice creeping up his spine. It wasn't the result of the warning – he knew he could handle the guards just fine – but it was that steady confidence the boy spoke despite his fidgety actions, and the way those violet eyes remained fixed on them throughout his entire speech: hard, cold, unwavering. A young life brought to ruin by the Underworld. They always knew how to find the best monsters.

Silence breathed into the room. Lovino felt immobile in his spot, it took nearly all his effort to sit down on one of the chairs that he had drawn out earlier. Mathias, seeing him, quickly followed his actions, but did not seem at all perturbed by what the boy had said. He stretched out his legs, nodding in beat to some tune only he could hear, and let his eyes wander around this boring room.

The boy remained in his spot before the door, still fidgeting slightly; but there was a serene expression on his face that gave him the semblance of a steadfast pillar in a silently raging sea of thoughts. Until that was broken by one quick glance towards the camera in the corner.

Then another.

Lovino followed the boy's careful glimpses to see the camera's red eye blink out of existence, then return, pausing for a second before disappearing again. This repeated two more times before a longer pause, and then it restarted. Except this time, after the first blink, it gave one rapid blink, then another slower one, before the light winked out and did not return.

A quick clearing of the throat drew Lovino's attention back to the boy, who was suddenly very nervous again. "Um…" When he spoke, there was much of that confidence lacking as well, and his voice and actions suddenly matched his physical age. "So… I heard from Mr. Zwingli and he said- he told me- you're looking for Lilli?"

"You know Lilli?" Mathias was suddenly paying attention. "We're looking for her!"

Lovino was half-tempted to kick him – you never knew when somebody in the Underworld was actually trying to root you out – but paused when the boy leaned forward slightly and began to speak quickly in a hushed voice, "You are Lovino Vargas and Mathias Køhler. My name is Raivis Galante. Now that we've got our introductions over and done with…" He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if making up his mind and steeling his nerves. "I am going to help you find Lilli Zwingli."

* * *

Emil had forgotten how it felt like. He had forgotten that there was always this momentary flash of pain that never grasped him completely before it ebbs away, but was uncomfortable and disconcerting nonetheless. He had forgotten that feeling of separation, like you were being torn apart by your own will and how he was no longer something physical but drifting atoms barely held together by an overpowering fear and conscience that refused to let them separate completely. He had forgotten the feeling of being squeezed through a crack when he passed through something physical, and he had forgotten how strange it was to feel something grasped in your hand, but look down to see nothing.

He had forgotten, and that was why when he burst through the walls with Lukas's phone clasped in a transparent hand, he had to stand there for a moment and remember just how strange it felt to use this cursed ability. He had to remember what had happened and what will happen and how he could return, but then he remembered what he had left behind the gray metal walls and what he held and what he had done, Emil felt his heart clench and throat tighten, and with a sob fighting its way up his shuddering chest to his shapeless mouth, he fled from the Prison and into the forest around it.

The trees provided good cover from the sun, and although every time he ran through a tree it felt like his breath was being knocked out of him, he did not try to avoid them. He had to get out, get as far away as possible from that metal box in the middle of nowhere, from the guards with their guns and black uniforms and bloodhound grins, from his brother's pleading eyes and desperate voice speaking in foreign tongues and he just needed to _get away_ from him always _protecting_ him acting like some kind of _hero_ because he didn't _need_ this- he didn't _deserve_ this _-!_

Emil was sobbing, but his tears vaporized from his eyes and disappeared as if his grief was worth nothing more than vapor; his lungs were burning as he fled through the dense forest and every gulp of air was desperate and painful, every breath released with a gasping sob or hiccup. There was a fire crawling up his arm, and he didn't realize that he was no longer drifting apart with every step he took until he slammed headfirst into a tree.

Stars exploded in his vision, then faded into patches of black and red that throbbed with the pain that clutched his entire body. His thoughts were a mumble-jumble of senseless words, the grass was pricking through his clothes, the ground was uncomfortable hard, and-

Emil's eyes snapped open and he abruptly sat up, but a bout of dizziness accompanied with mild nausea made him groan and flop back down, trying not to empty his churning stomach.

The phone.

Where was the phone?

He slowly propped himself up again, scanning his surroundings and trying to ignore the fact that his surroundings seemed to be spinning and out of balance.

 _There-_

Lukas's old iPhone was battered but still usable – barely – and the sudden motion sent another wave of nausea crashing over him but he lunged for it anyway, scrambling to check to see if it was still functional after its atoms had been disassembled then reassembled only to be tossed several meters into the air.

At first the iPhone did not react to his frantic poking, but after a while, the screen lit up, and Emil let out a huff of relief that did nothing to ease the tension from his body. He clutched the phone and felt the overwhelming misery rise again. Because Lukas was still in the Prison, Mathias was still gone, and he was all alone.

* * *

"You don't need to worry. Your appointment is not due for twenty minutes, and the cameras are being controlled by Eduard, but even so, it's best if we hurry as much as we can." Raivis spoke everything in a breathless rush, the words tumbling into each other. "The plan is simple. I'm going to take you out, we'll track down Lilli. If we meet anyone on the way, we'll tell them I'm escorting you to the doctor because the appointment schedule has changed so you might have to wear some kind of restraint – sorry. It's okay though, because you're supposed to put some on anyway, so it'd only look like I'm doing my job. After we find Lilli we'll head towards—"

"Whoa, whoa, calm the fuck down!" Lovino shouted, and the room fell tensely silent as the three occupants stared anxiously at the door, half expecting another scientist to barge in at the sudden outburst of noise.

"Wow," Mathias commented casually. "Intense."

"Thank you, Mathias. My point exactly." Lovino knew that that wasn't what Mathias had been referring to, but it could apply to both situations. He scrutinized the scrawny boy in front of him, whose nervous eyes darted back and forth between the two fugitives. "It's cool that you're trying to help us, but why?"

Raivis blushed for no apparent reason, and began to stammer. "Well, I- you know- Lilli- I know Lilli and I thought maybe- I thought maybe I can help? I mean!" His face flushed brighter. "Um… I- Lilli is… Lilli is very nice, and her brother is really scary and I think- um… I think it'd be for the best," he finished lamely, not really answering Lovino's question. He obviously did not know how to answer to that, and for the sake of time, he did not push it.

So he addressed another problem. "There are several flaws in your plan. So maybe you know where Lilli Zwingli is, and let's say that we successfully get her out. How are we going to do that under the time limit? You said that we have twenty minutes – probably fifteen by now – and that cannot be enough time to help her escape. What if we don't even reach her when the time runs out? When we don't show up to the appointment, people will investigate, and things will get very messy very fast. And unless you're willing to sacrifice your apparent loyalty to the Underworld to help us, I'm guessing you wouldn't want your innocent cover blown." He paused there, gauging for a reaction. Raivis blinked owlishly at him, seemingly speechless.

So he continued, "I propose this: If this Eduard guy is controlling the cameras, tell him to keep it up. You get Lilli out of whatever cage she's trapped in with your scientist status and bring her to us. We'll either be in here or with the doctor, doesn't really matter. Just hand her over, I'll get the three of us out of here, and you don't need to worry about anything else."

Raivis' eyebrows furrowed in concern. "That sounds good. But how are you going to get out—"

"I said that it's _none of your business_ ," Lovino snapped, making the boy jump. "Now scram! Find the girl, we're waiting."

Raivis nodded frantically, and slipped out the door. Mathias stood, moving to follow him, but Lovino held him back, much to his puzzlement because – of course – he either wasn't listening, didn't understand, or simply didn't remember the plan. "What do we do now?"

Lovino sighed and slumped back in his chair. This was not part of _the_ plan. Part of Vash's plan, maybe, but not _his_. He did not agree to sit in a chair and wait for a risky delivery; he had wanted to get to the lab for much more selfish reasons. He stared at the door, fighting the urge to simply whisk himself away to where he could track down a slim chance of achieving his goal. Even if the person he was looking for was still in some Australian lab halfway across the world, they should have some kind of file on him, right? He hated that feeling of being only part of a whole, stranded with no clue of where the other half may be, but Lovino settled deeper into the hard, wooden chair and clenched his jaw against the bitter emotions he was so terrible at battling. "Now, we wait."

* * *

He didn't even know why he tried. Lukas must have had some kind of plan in mind when he tossed him the phone, but he didn't get it. Mathias didn't have a cell phone – there was no point when he wouldn't remember where he placed it anyway – and he was still missing, so he couldn't call him for help. Bella and her brothers are on the other side of the country, even if they have more handy contacts up their sleeves, and who knew what Alfred and Matthew were doing at the moment? They might not even hear the phone ringing if Alfred was still partying while piloting.

Even so, he tried, because what else could a phone do? They weren't in some kind of superhero movie where he could track people by this little metal box, and he definitely couldn't fight either, even with his… _abilities_. Come to think of it, what use was there for those abilities other than to flee?

The constant beeping from the phone's speaker was grating on his nerves, but when it stopped, his heart soared…

Then plummeted right back down when a brisk female voice informed him that the area he was in had no signal whatsoever, which made long-distance calls much more difficult. Disgruntled, he tried again, with the same discouraging results. He walked around a bit, hoping to pick up a bit of signal for a quick phone call, and just when – out of desperation – Emil decided to dial one more time, he heard a sound that did not quite belong to a forest.

It came and went at an incredible speed, but there was no mistaking it. It was the sound of tires crunching over gravel, bouncing over an uneven road, engine huffing and puffing in the effort.

Suddenly, Emil had an idea. It was very vague, definitely not well thought out, but it was a chance. Determined not to think of all the thousands of ways this could go wrong, Emil pocketed his phone, and began to follow the direction where the sound had come from. Now hopefully the phone does not run out of battery before he reached civilization. And hopefully with the direction he decided to follow, the crude road he remembered travelling through in Milen's car actually leads him to the city instead of back to the Prison.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	12. A Child No Longer

**This chapter came up relatively faster than usual. It's mostly a filler chapter though, so it was much easier to write. Please leave a comment below!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _"Lukas."_

 _It couldn't have been more than a few months, yet it felt like it had been forever since someone had called him by this name._

 _"Lukas, are you okay?"_

 _"Go mind your own business, Emil." His voice was raspy, as if he hadn't used it for years, and he felt like a sulking child._

 _Emil did not budge from his doorway. "Something's wrong, Lukas."_

 _A flicker of concern was squashed down as his gaze shifted to his younger brother, who watched his lazy posture with furrowed brows. "What is?"_

 _"You, Lukas. Something's wrong with_ you _."_

 _The concern was replaced with insult, and his jaws clenched. "There's nothing wrong with me."_

 _"Everything is wrong with you. I barely know you anymore."_

 _"People change." A lame excuse, and they both knew it._

 _"Not like this." Emil took a daring step forward, leaving faint footprints in the layer of dust that covered the wooden floorboards. "You have to stop this, Lukas."_

 _"I don't have to stop anything."_

 _"Stop acting like everything you're doing is right!" Emil snapped, but Lukas remained unfazed. His hands moved methodically with practiced ease, dull blue eyes trained onto the wall of peeling paint opposite of where he sat on the musty bed sheets._

 _"Stop acting like you know what's wrong and what's right."_

 _"You're chasing after a dead man's dream. There's nothing right about that."_

 _"How come?" Lukas challenged, turning to face his brother properly. "Is a dead man's dream a_ dead _dream?"_

 _"It's not_ your _dream," Emil bit back, but then his expression softened. "There's nothing wrong with it, but it's not right when you twist it to your own expectations. This isn't what he wanted."_

 _"You don't know that." It was a dead man's dream, after all._

 _Lukas turned away again, observing his hands as they monotonously polished a blade. He scrubbed at a bloodstain on the hilt, rubbing over the spot thoughtfully with one thumb._

 _"Yes I do." Emil gestured around the room: the peeling paint, the flickering lights, the dust that dominated the entire apartment. "He wasn't like…_ this _."_

 _Outside the window, the Boston Underworld base smoldered, water spewing from fire trucks dousing the last of the flames and sending smoke and vapor blasting into the gray sky._

 _"You sacrificed everything to finish what he had started, but this wasn't what he had in mind. This wasn't what he wanted."_

 _Lukas sighed imperceptibly, throwing down the polishing rag, dust billowing as he slid from the bed and onto the floor._

 _"He didn't want to destroy everything, he wanted it rebuilt. He wouldn't want you to obsess and destroy yourself over this."_

 _He stalked past his younger brother, who spoke desperately, almost begging. He smelled of musky death and fresh blood, burning bones and frozen screams. The knife glinted in his hand._

 _"Don't do this, Lukas. You're not fulfilling anything. He wouldn't want this." It was rare for Emil to show so much emotion, yet he found himself stoic and immovable even at the sight of bright tears streaking down the boy's pale face. "Please come back."_

 _The door had been left open by Emil, but the lock was broken anyway, the handle rusted and loose._

 _The boy was on his knees now, his clothes and hands dusted gray. He was begging, but Lukas was deaf to his words._

"Mathias wouldn't want this."

 _He slammed the door behind him._

* * *

It was an undeniable fact that Raivis Galante had a crush on Lilli Zwingli. In fact, Eduard was almost certain that it was love at first sight, although Raivis liked to deny everything in an awkward stammer while blushing from head to toe. Both Lilli and Raivis arrived in the lab at around the same time a year and a half ago, her less than a month later than him. Raivis, at the time in charge of tending to the prisoners' barest needs, met her early on and they became quick—and secret—friends.

From the very beginning, Lilli was special. At first she was only held in custody: leverage over her brother, Eduard had whispered to him one time, and the ten-year old girl cheerfully told him about how her brother had tried to escape with her from the Underworld, only to get caught. They spent a few days in Prison, and then they were visited by a pretty lady with beautiful green eyes and a charming smile. The woman had used a smooth, silky voice to make her brother beg, and the next thing she knew, she was here.

Half a year later, the lab was graced by none other than young Peter Kirkland, led into the hospital by a beautiful woman who smiled and greeted everyone by name, and had affectionately ruffled Raivis' hair as she swept into holding rooms, observing each cell before stopping—with Peter by her side—in front of Lilli.

At the sight of her, Lilli began to cry, but she was ignored.

"What about her?" the woman asked Peter, and he turned an ugly smile onto the little girl behind bars.

"I'll try not to kill her."

The woman was called Magyar, Raivis later discovered through Eduard, and she was the woman who had given Lilli her scars and forced her brother to plead for mercy with his head bowed to the ground on both knees.

It took two men to drag Lilli, kicking and screaming, away from her cell and after the boy, and two days later, Raivis had been sure that she was dead.

* * *

Raivis was four years older than Lilli, but when she came back in the middle of the night on the third day, she had aged five years.

Lilli at fifteen years old was still beautiful, despite her waxy complexion and the shadows under her dull eyes and pooling into her hollowed cheeks. She had lost the roundness of childhood, and the innocence Magyar had broken before Peter shattered completely.

The next day, Raivis was told that Lilli Zwingli, Subject Number 68, was dangerous, and she was isolated to a room, clasped in old-fashioned chains to prevent her from raising years of her life to Heaven and stopping the world from turning.

When Vash Zwingli discovered what had been done to his sister, he nearly lost his head. It took several threats of shooting Lilli in front of him before he takes her place in front of the barrel to make him stand down. Why Magyar bothered to keep him alive was a mystery to Raivis. She had never been so merciful before.

If the white lines crisscrossing up the young girl's arms and ugly burns peppered across the span of her back and sides, with the addition of a long, brutal slash that stretched from the base of her neck to just above her bellybutton could be considered mercy.

It took a long time before Lilli smiled again, and when she did, Raivis nearly wept with joy and relief.

One year was barely enough for her to heal.

And it was foolish, and he knew it. Because sometimes he would have dreams, where he was a knight in shining armor leaping into the fray of battle and adventure to slice away her chains, sweep her from her feet, and carry her away from this hideous world.

It was a ridiculous dream, but it was soothing nonetheless, and he thought that if the dream was to ever come true, she would smile just as brightly and hopefully as when he rushed into her cell and began picking open the chains, stumbling over his words to tell her that she was leaving this place and she was going to see her brother again.

Raivis wasn't Rome or China. He wasn't Gilbert Beilschmidt or Arthur Kirkland or Mathias Køhler or any one of those heroes and powerful characters that Lilli told him about as she portrayed stories from the rise and fall of Heaven and Hell.

Raivis simply wasn't cut out for greatness.

But perhaps he could learn.

* * *

Lovino Romano Vargas was not a patient man. He was born with impatience colliding with his natural gift of laziness to form his outstanding personality, and he wasn't about to start being patient now.

Especially not now, when the clock was ticking.

"What kind of stupid boy is he?" he grounded out, even though Mathias was humming to himself and tapping his foot to the beat, not paying attention. "Is more than ten minutes not enough to find a girl?"

More than ten minutes was an understatement. Fifteen minutes were over and gone, twenty minutes nearly up, and still there was no sign of Raivis.

He was just about ready to storm out the room and terrorize the hospital when there were two brisk knocks on the door. Lovino froze, but Mathias called cheerfully, "Come in!"

There was a pause outside the door, then a head popped in, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you two alone in here?"

Once again, it was Mathias who answered brightly, "Yup!"

"Where's your guard?"

This time, Lovino made sure to speak before his companion could say something stupid like, _'He went to help us find someone we have to escape with so we can bust someone else out of the Underworld Prison!'_ "He… had to use the toilet."

Mathias frowned. "He did?"

Lovino made sure to flash his most charming smile at the nurse who watched them with a skeptical glare, waving dismissively in the direction of the blond oaf beside him. "He's not very bright."

The nurse was unimpressed and did not seem to buy it for a single second, but she just gave an exaggerated sigh and gestured at the two to follow her closely before spinning on her heels and stalking away.

They were led away from the room and down the hallway before the nurse started talking. "I suggest you two not to do anything rash." She pinpointed them with a look, a sharp glint in her eyes that was strangely bloodthirsty. Lovino felt himself grin. "You will regret it."

Not a nurse at all, it seemed.

She marched them around two more corners, and down a flight of stairs, the hallways eerily silent and empty the whole time until the nurse was knocking on an office door and a voice was calling, "Enter," when a curly head peeked around the corner and caught Lovino's eye.

Raivis was gesturing desperately at them, pointing behind the corner and mouthing, _'She's right here.'_ The nurse was ready to usher them into the room where a scientist-not-doctor sat waiting behind a desk, and that was when Lovino acted.

If the nurse was anything he speculated she was, she would not be deterred by any form of physical attack, but no one was ever prepared when Lovino grabbed Mathias and did his little _trick_.

Lilli Zwingli was a pretty girl with a slight build and golden hair framing her face in a hairstyle much like her brother's. Her bright blue-green eyes were wide, pink lips shaped in an 'o' when Lovino and Mathias materialized in front of her.

"Took you long enough!" Lovino snapped at Raivis, who cowered slightly, but then recovered enough to give a shy wave to Lilli, who in turn smiled sweetly back as Lovino grabbed her hand.

"Eduard has a car outside," Raivis told them in a rush. "Just in case."

"Bye, Raivis!" she called before they were whisked away into a whirlwind of blurred lines and muddled colors. They were deposited in an indiscreet hallway that looked identical to all the other corridors they had passed. _How in Hell do you get lost in such a small hospital?_

"The exit is that way!" Lilli pointed to her right, where there was a short flight of stairs towards the lobby. They were about to take off running when the little girl took a hold on Lovino's sleeve and looked up with pleading, wide doe-eyes that threatened to melt him into a puddle of feels in the middle of an Underworld lab-in-disguise. "Can you please do that thing you did just now, sir?"

With a sigh of resignation, Lovino allowed her to loop her arm around his and clamped a hand on Mathias's shoulder, and with a deep breath, the world once again dissolved into unrecognizable blurs. They hit Lovino's range just outside the hospital doors, and there was a moment of confusion and panic as they scanned the parking lot.

"There?" Mathias pointed at a car that was flashing its lights for no apparent reason. Then it honked, and the driver – a stranger – waved hurriedly at them, and the trio barely hesitated to launch themselves into the backseat. The car backed out of its spot, and was on the road within seconds, just as figures appeared in the doorway where they had been moments before, wielding dangerous objects that should not be present in a hospital, but they were soon out of sight.

Everything was happening so quickly that Lovino felt like he had left something behind in the hospital. He was still in a daze, barely able to listen when the driver – a young man with neat blonde hair and lightly-colored eyes hidden behind a pair of rectangular lens – introduced himself.

He was Eduard Von Bock, the guy who had been in charge of the cameras, and now their chauffeur. He was a hacker, but he did minor business in the Black Market and had an experience of sniping. He was an associate of Vash Zwingli, and had agreed to help with the escape of Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The words ruffled by his ears, barely registering them until Mathias punched him in the arm with a delighted expression. "He knows me too!" the blonde exclaimed.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows who you are."

"That is very true," Eduard Von Bock said, "although most people would deny you being alive."

"Why is that?"

"That's because three years ago you got executed. Everyone in the Underworld knows that!" Lilli piped up, regarding Mathias with an interested, almost adoring gaze. "My big brother told me all about you. He called you a hero."

Mathias beamed, while Eduard chuckled. "Vash? Doubtful."

"He did!" Lilli insisted. "He said you were very noble even though you instigated a civil war, although that shows that you're also kind of stupid." It was difficult to be offended with the young girl repeating her brother's words in such a cheerful manner. "He said it was a pity that they killed you."

"But I'm alive?" Mathias seemed thoroughly confused.

"That you are," Eduard agreed. "I didn't believe it when Tino told me at first, but it seemed like it's true."

"Tino Väinämöinen?" Lovino was mildly surprised. "Isn't he a scientist?"

"Who's Tino?" Mathias asked, trying to shake off or perhaps relieve the sense of familiarity of the name, even though he couldn't by God attach a face or any memories to it.

"He wasn't an actual scientist, never studied anything to do with science, inside or outside the Underworld." Eduard's voice was troubled. His blue-green eyes flickered to Mathias on the rearview mirror for a moment before focusing back onto the road. "You really don't remember him, do you?"

Mathias shook his head.

The driver's shoulders sagged. "Tino said as much. He was ecstatic when he discovered that you're alive but then…" He glanced at the forgetful teen again.

"But who is he?" Mathias pressed.

"A sniper," Eduard answered quietly. "And a mighty good one at that. We worked together for some time, and it was extremely inspiring; he was one of the best, so it was something of a pity when he ran off with Berwald Oxenstierna."

"Tino hates Berwald," Lovino criticized.

"Tino _loved_ Berwald," Eduard answered. "He was very scared of him at first, but after a while, they were willing to move heaven and earth for each other and together. Well," there was a pause, "Tino was. He followed Berwald more faithfully than he followed Mathi- I mean," he broke off with a small cough. He seemed suddenly flustered, and he kept glancing at Mathias, who listened with a childish interest. "He followed that blundering giant more faithfully than anyone else, and even after the civil war, he followed him to Australia, into the labs, which went against basically everything he valued."

"I've been to Australia!" Mathias exclaimed, but Lovino was concerned about something else.

"What do you mean _'loved'_?"

"The Australian lab was destroyed quite a few months ago." It was Lilli who replied. "All the scientists were talking about it, right?"

Eduard nodded. "Tino and Berwald didn't make it," he said sadly.

"What do you mean destroyed?" Lovino demanded, a note of panic in his voice. "How? Who died?"

"We don't have many details," Eduard told him in a placating voice, "but Natalia Arlovskaya was the only member of the staff present during the explosion who survived. We don't know anything about the experimental subjects, but from what authorities were able to gauge from the final communication signals they've caught, there was a break-in and people were trying to help the subjects escape."

"Australia was nice," Mathias commented. "We went to the dentist's."

Lovino ignored him. "Did they succeed?"

"I don't know. But if you really need to know, you can ask Gilbert Beilschmidt after you get him from the Prison." The car swerved, and they were suddenly surrounded by thick green foliage. "He participated in the heist. I'd say that they succeeded to a certain degree—that's why they wanted his head so badly."

"Speaking of Gilbert—hey!" Lilli was peering out the window. "I think I just saw somebody walking down the road."

"Impossible," Lovino denied. "You'd have to be a madman to try to walk to the city from the Prison. But right, speaking of Gilbert…" He looked at Lilli, curious. "What exactly can you do?"

But Lilli just offered him a mysterious smile. "It's a surprise."

The trees broke off into a clearing and the Prison loomed.

* * *

It was quite a surprise, and Lovino thought that it'd be so much better if Lilli Zwingli had decided to activate her abilities sooner.

When they arrived at the Prison, it was surrounded by guards, who pointed their rifles and guns at the incoming vehicle, never faltering as it eased into a parking spot. Mathias spotted Vash amongst the ranks, stationed near the entrance, and he waved. Unsurprisingly, he was ignored.

Everyone, save for Eduard, exited the car, and a shout went up amongst the guards.

"The Prisoners-!"

"—escaped—!"

"Why did they come back?!"

"Don't let them get away again!"

But before a single bullet left the barrel, Lilli smiled sweetly, and as if she was lifting something onto an alter, she raised her hands, palms facing the sky, and Lovino felt a muffled breeze ripple from the girl. The grass bowed away from her, the forest sighed, then stilled.

The world went silent.

* * *

 **Yeah, pretty uneventful. Next chapter will contain a lot more action though, so it'd be fun! Although I have no idea how long it'll take me to write... Thanks for reading, and please Review!**


	13. Grey Static

**Warning: swearing.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

It was as if Lilli Zwingli had sliced open and peeled away one layer of the world to reveal another. It was still the same world: the same trees, the same buildings and cars and everything, but that 'everything' was washed with a layer of gray, the colors dulled and lifeless.

And everything had frozen.

The trees were posed in the middle of a strong gust of wind, leaves suspended in midair and refusing to flutter to the ground. The guards had frozen as well, many of them with funny expressions that one tended to find when you stopped an action movie in the heat of the battle. Vash was there too, inconspicuously frozen at his post by the door, forest green eyes staring unmoving in front of him, his rifle slung limply from his shoulders.

"Whoa…" Mathias was busy examining the frozen figures. He had plucked a bullet suspended in midair and was now trying to stuff it back into the gun. He left it stuck at the mouth of the barrel, then experimentally pinched the holder's cheek. The flesh that he had pinched became stuck in the position, Mathias's thumb and forefinger imprinted on the man's cheek as if he was made of clay. It was both fascinating and revolting.

"Try not to change things too much. If you're going to move things, please remember to place them to the original position. Otherwise, it interferes with the time lapse inside and outside the Zone," Lilli informed them, sounding almost like a tour guide. "This is especially the case for organic beings such as humans."

"Zone?" Lovino inquired, then startled when he took in the girl—no, the _woman_ —who now stood behind him. She was petite, with golden hair hanging just below the shoulders and familiar blue-green eyes. The stranger was small in stature, but her figure was full and complete, and her face was too sharp to be that of a young girl's. It took him a moment to realize that this was Lilli Zwingli.

"What the _fuck_ happened to you?!"

Lilli's head tilted thoughtfully to one side, and she gave him a smile – a girl's smile: small, timid, mysterious. "I think you know very well what happened to me, even if you have not experienced it personally."

And then she glided past him towards her brother, not sparing a glance for the frozen guards poised around them. "The Zone is the area where I control the flow of time. I can slow it, I can stop it, but I can only do anything within the boundaries of the Zone. It's complicated, and I don't really understand it either, but the world outside the Zone will always only see the world inside the way it was before the Zone took over. The clock Inside may still be turning, but it would not be seen by anyone outside the Zone, and the only way they would know how things inside the restricted area has changed would be for them to enter the Zone."

She brushed an affectionate hand over Vash's cheek, and a shiver seemed to ripple though him as color filtered onto his form. Vash blinked, slightly baffled as he unfroze from his spot, and for one moment he was the stiff soldier with a fierce temper, sharp words on his tongue and ready to snap or bite when he caught sight of Lilli.

His shoulders sagged, and a slightly dazed expression of bewilderment flitted over his fact. He raised a hesitant hand to touch the young woman's sharp jaw-line, trailing down her slender neck to rest on a bony shoulder. He looked lost, and there was something incredibly sad in his misty green eyes. "Oh gosh, Lilli, he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

But she simply offered a gentle smile and replied in the soothing voice of a mother comforting a distraught child, "You always find a way to save me, Brother."

"How very interesting, Lilli." Then Lovino had to interrupt, because things were getting a bit too sappy for his mental health. "Your abilities intrigue me." And there was a minor pang of guilt, because Lilli Zwingli's abilities were actually amazing, but the price for these powers to control the time in a certain area limited inside this Zone was steep. At the rate she was aging, he wondered if she would be able to live another decade before her body expires. "This," he gestured at the pair of siblings, "is all very sweet, but now that we've got the gang, we should get going. Oi, Køhler!" he shouted at the tall blonde, who was currently examining another guard's tool belt, spilling random weapons on the floor and tucking those that caught his eye onto his own belt.

Vash shot both of them a stinky look, but said casually enough, "Just stroll inside and grab the man. Should be simple enough."

"I can't touch anything," reminded Lilli, gesturing to emphasize the importance of her warning. "It would become free of the Zone." While gesticulating her hand accidentally brushed against the guard poised right beside her, and there was a ripple of color as the man unfroze, confusion and alarm flickering over his face as he took in the sight of his comrades still stuck in a moment of the past.

Equally alarmed but much more level-headed as he actually knew what was going on, Vash bashed the butt of his rifle into the man's head, and he crumpled to the ground without another word.

There was a moment of silence as all four of them stared at the unconscious man. Then—

"Oops," Mathias commented, and Lilli gave a sheepish smile. Vash shrugged and Lovino grumbled, "Let's go already."

Vash kicked open the Prison doors, his hands gripping the rifle tightly even though there wasn't much use for it as long as his sister did not unfreeze any more people. The halls were lined with unmoving figures, all under the effect of the Time Zone. The group paid them no heed, and with Vash in the lead, Lilli right behind, and Mathias and Lovino bringing up the rear, they twisted and turned their way to the V.I.P. rooms. The guard was familiar with the locks binding Gilbert's doors, and Mathias observed with curiosity as Vash quickly entered a password to a pad on the wall beside the thick iron door.

The machine beeped twice in affirmation, but nothing happened. Frowning, Vash reentered the password, this time more slowly, with the same results.

"Why isn't this working?"

"Is this building on lockdown mode?" Lovino asked.

The guard answered, "Yes, but it is Red Protocol. Only in Black Protocol would all locks, including the inner ones be completely shut down."

"Maybe it's still frozen?" Mathias suggested, and Lilli, perked up from where she had previously been wandering around the area, a bit bored.

Vash observed the gray light flashing from the machine, and sighed heavily. "Maybe."

Lilli stepped forward and poked at the device on the wall and the metal door beside it, then stepped aside to let her brother enter the password one more time. The machine beeped again, light flashing green this time, and there was a curious whirring sound inside the door. A panel of the door slid open to reveal another device, this time with a small, smooth screen to which Vash pressed his thumb to. It gave the same affirmative beeping, and beneath it, another metal panel slid open, revealing a single, simple lock.

"Are you serious," Lovino deadpanned as the guard unclipped a chain of keys from his belt.

"It's the V.I.P. rooms," Vash answered somewhat defensively. He selected a small, silver key and unlocked the door. It was heavy and made an ugly screeching noise as Vash hauled it open, and Lovino peered in fully, expecting to see a small chamber dimly lighting the prisoner in his chains, not—

Another stupid-ass door.

" _Holy Motherfucking God_ ," Lovino swore, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. "What kind of dumb design is this?"

"A paranoid design," came the curt, sullen answer as Vash chose another key and inserted it into the keyhole.

Mathias chuckled, and patted Lovino on the shoulder. "Don't worry, friend. We have all the time in the world." There was something absent-minded about his tone of voice, more so than usual. The blonde was gazing around their dull, lifeless surroundings. Before the Zone had taken over, the Prison had been drab and grey, and afterwards, it seemed to have barely changed except the silence in the halls was suddenly empty of the fear and madness seeping from cracks beneath the cell doors. It seemed more desolate and detached, colder, with the slight air of an abandoned madhouse.

Mathias was taking this all in intently, his brows furrowed.

There was a small click, and, leaving the key in, Vash began to slowly turn the large wheel in the middle of the door.

Lovino huffed, but did not say much else otherwise. Mathias baffled him; at times he was an utter airhead—unwillingly reminded Lovino of his stupid brother sometimes. But if you were even remotely educated in the history of the Underworld, you would know that firstly, Mathias Køhler was a legend; and secondly, Mathias Køhler was dead. Except he was not dead, and Lovino was fairly certain that if he was a legend, Mathias would probably _not_ be standing right next to him. Except he was.

And that was what had baffled him the most, to be honest. The stories depicted Køhler as some kind of rebellious prince. He was valiant and courteous, charming and perhaps a terrible flirt. He was not some kind of dunderhead with a head and character swaddled with cobwebs. He was supposed to give Lovino the help he needed to find and save his brother, not drag him into a mess of mysteries and aimless quests.

The wheel began to turn much more smoothly, and it grinded to a halt with a crisp click. Vash grunted in satisfaction, and began to pull the door open. Mathias stepped forward to help. They gave one mighty heave and sent the door skidding around its hinges, slamming into the first layer of metal with a rattling clang.

Mathias's last comment had made him think. Contrary to popular belief, Lovino was a thinker, and as he watched Mathias pat his hands and grin at the rest of them, he caught his eye momentarily and saw a flash of something strange.

Something bright, something alert, something utterly and completely _terrified_.

And Lovino wondered just how much of Mathias Køhler was cobwebs strewn over rotten paintings of broken scenes, and how much of him was a polished golden mask.

* * *

The group of four entered the V.I.P. cell room to find the scene mostly unchanged: the albino prisoner was chained and immobile, half-starved and bruised—Vash was able to deliver him irregular meals to postpone his execution, but he couldn't stop the other guards' ill-humored games. Gilbert was also trapped in time, but Lilli touched a hand stop his matted silver hair and the ripple of color revived him enough for him to let out a loud snore.

"What are you going to do about those?" Vash asked, gesturing at the chains. "We can't exactly smuggle him discreetly out of the state with those things on."

"Keys?" Mathias suggested, still acting somewhat odd, but Lilli was the one who noticed right away,

"There aren't any keyholes."

"Zzzz," Gilbert snored.

"The Zone…" Lovino said slowly, addressing the young girl. "When you touched Gilbert to free him from the Zone, were the chains freed as well?"

The young woman thought for a moment, observing the chains around Gilbert's wrists, then shook her head. "I don't think so."

The brunet nodded, and stepped up with a confident smirk. "It's moments like these when you should be kissing my feet and thanking God for my existence." He ignored Vash's eye-roll and grabbed Gilbert's shoulders. He took a deep, heavy breath, the tension in his shoulders draining away as he seemed to take one step backwards—and both he and the prisoner disappeared from sight. The chains did not move from where Gilbert had left it, frozen in time, but there was a groan in the hallway and the sound of bodies hitting the ground.

Mathias and the siblings peered out the cell door to find Lovino Vargas struggling under the weight of an assassin—now freed from his chains—despite Gilbert Beilschmidt being not much more than skins and bones. The albino spluttered into consciousness from the brunet's rough handling, and they became a tangled mass of limbs on the ground.

"That was… surprisingly easy." Vash was unimpressed.

" _Nein!_ " Suddenly Gilbert was wide-awake, and he began thrashing wildly. "I'm not a virgin! It's not worth it!"

"Nobody would want a piece of _you_!" Lovino screeched, slightly out of breath from being crushed under Gilbert. "And you're on top of _me_ , _idiota_! Get off this instant! I fucking freed you and this is how you repay me?!"

"Quit fooling around!" Vash barked. "Get up! Despite Køhler's reassuring comment right there, we _don't_ actually have all the time in the world!"

Mathias chuckled as he helped the two up from the ground.

"Whoa." Gilbert swayed slightly on his feet, a bit disoriented but grinning widely. "I feel so light. This must be freedom. You!" He singled out Lovino with a bony finger. "You should be honored for having saved the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt from his un-awesome prison and no doubt untimely demise!"

Lovino made a point to ignore him, turning to Vash instead. "Is there a time limit to the Zone or something?"

"Technically speaking, there is none." Of course, it was Lilli who answered. "But the world outside the Zone is still turning, and it's best to not drag the difference out too much."

"Zone?" Gilbert was curious. "Hey, aren't you Vash's little sister? Why do you look older than him?" He noticed the frozen guards poised at the end of the hallways. "What's happening? It's cool and everything, but how did you get me out?"

As the group began hurrying towards the exit, passing several more unmoving guards (Gilbert made sure to give every single one of them a mighty kick, much to the annoyance of the only mobilized guard), Vash gave Gilbert a quick recap. When his less-than-satisfactory summary of all the exciting events thus far ended with an even more unsatisfying, "And now we're here," Gilbert frowned at Lovino.

"If it was that easy, why didn't you just get me out the first time you jumped into my cell and scared the crap out of all of us? Not that I'm complaining about the girl because— _damn_ , your powers are pretty awesome, y'know—but you could have just freed me the entire time with a simple abracadabra?"

"No," Lovino answered curtly. At the others' expectant expressions however, he sighed and explained, "First of all, it's not abracadabra or Avada Kedavra or whatever. It has a name and it's called _teleportation_. Second of all, if I had tried to teleport you out before, the chains would have been wrenched out of the wall with you because you were in direct contact. I got an idea when Lilli was explaining the concept of the Zone and how Inside and Outside are completely detached. So when Lilli touched you to free you from the Zone but not the chains, you became separated from them, and _then_ I can get you out _without_ the chains."

"So basically, I was your lab rat," concluded Gilbert sourly as they emerged from the Prison and cut their way through the masses of guards and neat rows of cars to where Eduard remained seated in the sleek, black, Underworld vehicle.

"Well, you got out, didn't you?" Lovino rolled his eyes. "Stop bitching."

"The awesome me don't _bitch_ —"

"Oh, shut up already. Your voice gives me a headache."

Lilli pulled open the car door and tapped Eduard on the shoulder, and everyone pooled into the car as the motor restarted.

Everyone, except for Vash, that is.

"Aren't you coming with us? It fits." Mathias patted the sparse space beside him, but the guard shook his head.

"I can't come with you. If I suddenly disappear, people would suspect, especially since four Underworld prisoners had escaped today. I can't attract any more attention, which is why I'm staying right here until Lilli unfreezes things." Vash gave them a curt nod and bent over slightly when Lilli leaned over Mathias's lap to plant a warm kiss on her brother's cheek.

"You take care now," the older brother murmured as he ran an affectionate hand through his younger sister's short golden locks. "I've already contacted Emma, so you'll be staying with her until I can get to you. Be good, okay?"

" _Ja, Bruder_ ," Lilli answered quietly, her expression sad. She sat back again, freeing Mathias from an uncomfortable position (not that he had minded much, that was), and Vash shut the car door. He went around to where Eduard was rolling down the window, and the Underworld hacker gave him a thumbs-up.

Vash nodded. "You know where to go and what to do. Good luck."

Eduard replied with a tight-lipped smile, "May the gates of Hell never open."

"Pray the gates of Heaven remain closed," the guard muttered in return and stepped back. These were strange words. Unfamiliar blessings made in lieu of the birth of murderers and liars and thieves. But this was the jargon of the Underworld, and no matter how much they despised it, this was the world in which they were born and raised and it was the only world they could truly live in.

The window rolled up, and the car began to pull out of the parking lot. Vash watched it twist into the forest path before spinning on his heels and marching back to his former post. The world around him was gray and unmoving, the silence dominating and daunting.

He waited.

* * *

They had driven for around two minutes when Lilli spoke up.

"Can you stop right here for a moment?" she requested, and the car rolled smoothly to a halt in the middle of nowhere. Not _completely_ nowhere, however: they seemed to be close to the edge of the Zone. Lovino could see wind ruffling the leaves on the trees just beyond an invisible line a few meters in front of where they've stopped.

Then, just like before, Lilli lifted her hands above her head, palms facing the sky; but this time, she followed this motion with a quick flip of her hands, then let them sink, palms now facing downwards. There was a sigh that breathed through the land and swept out behind them, and then Eduard was speeding down the road again, no doubt to make sure to drag out the distance as much as possible before anyone in the Prison realized what had happened.

"You look fifteen again," Lovino noticed.

"The Zone is never gone," Lilli explained. "It's always around me, and now that you are Outside, you can only see into it the image of when it had been frozen. To the others I will always be fifteen, until you enter the Zone."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Forever fifteen, huh. Sounds depressing."

Lilli smiled softly and shrugged, directing her attention away from the conversation to the window. Trees flashed past: a boring scenery, but Lilli found herself unable to look away. After several long minutes of driving in silence, the view outside still had not changed, although she was sure they were close to the main road by now—

The young girl startled and twisted, peering back at the road. But the car had taken a turn and the pale blue smudge in a mass of green and black had disappeared. She settled back in her seat, brows furrowed tightly as she wondered:

 _Why was there a boy hiding in the forest?_

* * *

"Boston? Why Boston?"

Eduard shrugged. "Of course, _I'm_ not taking you to Boston. I'm taking you to the airport, where there will be some people to pick you up to take you to Boston."

"Sounds exciting." Gilbert approved, sighing contently where he was comfortably wedged between Lilli and the window. "Home, sweet home, Boston is."

"I want to go to New York," Mathias piped up.

"Why?" Gilbert asked. "Aren't your friends in Boston?"

"They are in New York."

"Why on Earth would they be in New York? They live in Boston."

"We agreed we'd meet up in New York." Mathias was stubborn.

Gilbert gave him a strange look. "Why do I have the feeling that we're not actually talking about the same people?"

"I'm sure it can be arranged," Lilli said placidly. She had been putting out fires left and right in the past forty minutes in the car. She was curiously efficient and eager, whether it was because she was naturally talented at calming people down, or because she did not want to be caught in the middle when the two mentally-crooked men sitting on her two sides began fighting.

Meanwhile, Lovino Vargas had Eduard Von Bock trapped in his stubborn persistence.

"It's not about money, Mister Vargas."

"Then what do you want?" the brunet demanded.

"Safety," their driver replied curtly. "Peace. To be left alone until the storm blows over."

"The storm isn't going to fucking blow over for a very long time, _Mister Von Bock_ , and it most certainly will not be going anywhere if you're just going to sit on your ass and do nothing about it."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm smuggling you out of the state. How much of that is 'sitting on my ass'? And how is helping you find someone _possibly_ still in the labs going to help the storm blow over?"

"You don't have to _find_ him, per se. Just keep a lookout for any kind of news."

"I regulate the cameras and security in the Californian lab. I'm not a secretary and I most definitely have _no information whatsoever_ on our late Australian cousin."

"It's Number 32." Lovino was going to pretend that chunk of the conversation had not happened.

"You owe me, Mister Vargas." Eduard blew out an exasperated breath. "You owe me double."

"I'll pay you back."

"If you can. You're dead according to the legal world and a criminal in the illegal one. Pardon me if I don't have much faith in your ability to pay your debts."

"Now listen here, you cheeky bastard—"

"Of course," Eduard interjected smoothly, "I can always choose _not_ to help you. It'd be easier for all of us, right?" He glanced curiously at the Italian. "Honestly, I don't know what you're getting so riled up over. You know it's true."

Falling silent, Lovino scowled viciously out the window.

After a moment, Eduard spoke up again, "I mean, in the end, I _was_ trained to be a hacker." He gave a nearly imperceptible sigh. "I'll see what I can do. Number 32, right?"

Lovino nodded slowly. "Either that, or look for someone named Feliciano Vargas."

* * *

They stepped out of the car by the airport, and Eduard frowned at his watch. "They're late."

"No, we're not," a voice murmured beside Lovino, and if anyone asked, he did _not_ nearly jump a feet into the air.

A man had had appeared out of nowhere. He regarded the ragged group through a pair of round spectacles, hugging a stuffed polar bear tightly.

A mechanical, recorded voice spoke from the toy, _"Who are you?"_

"Mattie!" Gilbert was evidently delighted, greeting the man with a manly hug and his characteristic cackle. "How're you doing man? They haven't rooted you out yet, have they? How's Alfred?"

"Not yet," 'Mattie' accepted the hug. "We're safe, although we had to do some serious trading business before they stopped sending people to trail us."

"I like your talking bear," Mathias said, poking at the stuffed animal.

"Glad to see that you haven't changed one bit, Mathias," the bear's owner said. "You still don't remember anything." Now he addressed the entire group. "Alfred is waiting in the plane. We should get going."

Looking slightly irritated, Lovino held up a hand, signaling the conversation to pause. "Okay, wait a minute. Sorry if I come off as a distrustful, rude, temperamental Italian— _which I am_ —but, who the fuck are you?"

"My name is Matthew Williams," the man said, tucking his polar bear under an arm to shake Lovino's hand. "I am your pilot. Well, copilot actually, but Alfred—the pilot—and I will be bringing you back to Boston."

"And what are we supposed to do once we get there?"

Matthew shrugged. "That is neither in our deal nor our business to care." And before Lovino could spout out another question, Matthew asked, "Does everyone have their stuff? No forgotten luggage? Okay, let's go."

There was a chorus of goodbye's and thank-you's for Eduard (Lovino also making sure to send him a sharp look that was returned with an exasperated huff) before the black car pulled out from its spot and they parted for their separate ways.

* * *

It had been quite a while since he had last met either Matthew or Alfred, and truth to be spoken, Gilbert had expected this plane ride to be much more interesting. With Alfred's overwhelming personality that tends to dominate the entire atmosphere of the plane, often covering Matthew's already weak presence with his loudness and openness, Gilbert expected to enjoy a plane ride filled with music and lots of shouting. Maybe a few purposeful dives just to shake the passengers up a bit.

Instead, he was met by silence.

Gilbert hated the silence.

It was the one thing that seemed to refuse to leave him alone. The Prison had been filled with a tense, suffocating, foul silence broken only by the loud stomping of guards and their overly-loud laughter. Maybe the guards had felt the silence as well, and that was why they found it necessary to be extra loud in the Prison.

The silence in the plane was less foul, but it was just as tense and suffocating. They had walked into the plane to find Alfred making a call, and one look from the two pilots had everyone—even Mathias—clamping their mouths shut. They took off when Alfred had finished his call with a very uncharacteristic " _Yes, ma'am_ ," and no one bothered to start a conversation after that.

Well, that wasn't necessarily true; Gilbert had tried to ignite conversation several times, and he nearly succeeded twice with the help of Mathias, but then Alfred's phone rang, and everyone froze, abandoning the weak attempt of a social interaction in favor of a hushed tenseness while Alfred's loud, bold voice became the only audible sound above the roar of the plane engine around them.

"Hello?" It was obvious that the American pilot was trying to sound as casual as ever, but his voice was strained. There was a pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke, then, "Yes ma'am, I understand. Thank you for telling me. When shall we be there for the transport?"

Gilbert shared an alarmed look with Lovino, who seemed to be the only person who understood the meaning of that final word.

After working with an Underworld trader for such a long time, Gilbert was well-versed in black-merchant vocabulary. If it was objects that were boarding the plane, it was _'trade_ ', or from time to time, _'transfer'_. But _transport_ , on the other hand, was another topic. Black market traders like Antonio seldom used that word, because he was a weapons' dealer. But there was another type of trafficker who focused on something much more terrible.

Transport. _Human_ transport.

"In three days? Of course, we'll be there." One last pause. "Yes, ma'am, thank you." And then Alfred quickly hung up.

"I thought you two were on the lighter side of the market?" Gilbert demanded. Alfred and Matthew were Antonio's preferred pilots for handling his products, and they were well-known in the milder circles of the black market.

Their pilots' faces were ashen.

"We were," Matthew murmured, barely audible over the plane, "But if Magyar is the one keeping tabs on you, you're probably going to do anything to stay on her good side and under her radar."

Magyar.

 _—she had tucked the white blossom behind her ear, and her laughter was clear and bright, hopeful despite the brutal war that had torn apart their lives—_

That simple name had caused so much goddamned trouble in his life. Gilbert nearly laughed. It was difficult to believe that he had once known this woman—known this girl.

 _—her lips tasted like salty almonds with a hint of sweet wine, her body was soft and warm beneath his, but he knew full well the strength and power these graceful lines held—_

"She's in California," Alfred said, strangely quiet. "We just barely missed her. As a matter of fact, she is at the Prison, investigating the breakout."

 _—there was smoke in the air and she was laughing: a broken, maniacal sound that rang in his head. He tasted blood in his mouth and wondered when the pain would catch up with this war-worn body, if he could even feel the pain at all—_

And Gilbert really laughed then. The others looked at him like he was crazy—and he probably was—but he laughed anyway. He laughed until he nearly doubled over in his seat, and his breaths came out in painful wheezes that rattled his bruised ribs. He laughed until black spots danced across his stinging eyes and felt something warm on his cheeks before he realized that he was crying. He was laughing and weeping or maybe he wasn't really because—

 _—she had been so beautiful, so wonderful, better than a dream come true. But best of all, she had been_ his _—_

—somehow he knew. Somehow he felt the world tilting beneath him, people rushing on with their foolish lives, beacons of darkness in the midst of thousands of pinpoints of light, and he knew.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

Lovino, sitting in the seat behind him, gave the back of his seat a hard kick, and Gilbert forced himself into silence. But his breaths still came out heavy, and Lilli, in the seat next to his, watched in concern.

"Mathias!" Alfred sounded shocked with a touch of panic mixed with relief, which was truly strange. This day was filled with such surprises. "It's for you!"

Mathias took the phone, shouting to be heard. "Mathias Køhler speaking! Who is this?" He paused, then repeated loudly, "Who are you?" Suddenly, he was delighted. "Oh, hey! That's so great! Long time no see! Or hear, actually, ha. I'm on a plane right now! I'm going to Boston! Will you pick me up? What? I can't hear you!"

In an attempt to hear what the person on the other end of the line had to say, Mathias plugged the phone into the plane's speakers—an unexpectedly smart move.

Less smart was his disregard for the fact that Alfred usually had the volume at its highest, and the result was a sudden explosion of sound shaking the entire plane.

It was a boy's voice, and a familiar one at that, but Gilbert could not put a finger onto it until he gave the final name. "No, we can't pick you up, Mathias. We're in California. We tried to find you and…" the voice had started off strong, but then it had begun to wither and now it completely cracked. "And now Lukas is _gone_."

And then suddenly, there was only static.

* * *

 **I did say I would take a long time...?**

 **I know, I'm awful, I'm sorry. At least it's long, which is good. I feel like my chapters are getting longer and longer. Is that a good thing?**

 **Also, if anyone was confused about the chaotic chain of recent events (because I kept on getting confused), here's a timeline: **1\. Mathias is kidnapped, Lukas and Emil goes to California. ** **2\. Mathias meets Lovino. ** ** ** **3\. Lukas and Emil enters the Prison and searches for Mathias. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **4\. Mathias and Lovino escape, meets Vash and Gilbert. Then, they head for the labs. When they could not be found, the alarms were sounded. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **5\. Lukas and Emil got found out, Emil escaped, but Lukas was captured. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **6\. Emil starts working his way out of the forest. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **7\. Mathias and co. saves Gilbert, passing Emil twice in the forest but never actually noticing him much.****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **Thank you all for reading, and please Review!****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************


	14. Freedom in Chains

**I AM STILL ALIVE!**

 **Warning: crappy chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 _"The thing about the Underworld," said Kiku Honda as he unrolled a world map on the table between them, "is that it likes cities."_

 _It was a simple map with flat colors, bold black lines marking the borders between nations, each carve of land carefully labeled, each capital a red star popping from the bland blues, greens, yellows, and browns._

 _"They know, of course, that cities would be the most convenient for their areas of trade; and it is much easier to hide in a city after all—cities are often the filthiest places in the world." Here the Japanese man paused and gave a low, breathless chuckle. "I also believe that to them, it's something of a game. Like charades, maybe, where they blend in with these much more respectable businesses in the good part of the city, pretend to be one of them, with its fake name and fake employees._

 _"A pity, really—it used to be a truly respectable organization that saved and helped the lives of thousands of children. It started in the orphanages of the big cities, then slowly expanded into the rest of Europe, into the Americas and Asia. It was just beginning to work its way into Africa when it crumbled."_

 _Crumbled. Fallen. Toppled._

 _He had heard so many words that had described the fall of Paradizo, but rarely did people talk about its rise. It made him immensely curious, although both he and Kiku knew that they were completely off-topic._

 _"What did they do—before it became the Underworld, I mean," he asked, not looking at Kiku but staring down at the map, where, in addition to the capital cities, were little dots of an ugly orange color in random places._

 _Kiku didn't answer for some time, having fallen into a contemplative silence. He traced a finger across the chain of islands that made up Japan, then tapped on one of the orange dots located in the biggest Japanese peninsula._ Osaka _. "They had a dream, once. They didn't just want to save the children; they wanted to save the_ generation _. If you were familiar with Japanese history, you would see that they functioned a bit like a massive_ geisha _business. Of course, they weren't setting prices for children's virginities and such; but they educated and sponsored them, one child at a time, and when the time came the children were expected to pay off all the money that had been spent on them. In a way, you are part of Paradizo until your debts are paid. I don't doubt that some people never paid off their debts, but it is not such a miserable life. Much better than being an orphan begging in the streets._

 _"And, of course, the dream. For each child they decided to save—and of course, not every child had the ability to catch the eye of Paradizo—they were given everything. The children were given the best of the best. And not just education, but also the honing and polishing of skills, talents… I believe the goal was to create a generation of 'elites' that, as they grow older, will gain more influence in the world and change it for the better. And then as each generation passes, the human race will grow more and more intelligent and eventually utopia would be created—that was the intention."_

 _"What a tiresome dream," he murmured a reply, his pale fingers nearly caressing the map, touching that seemingly insignificant dot and measuring with his thumb the distance between it and Tokyo. "It will be a very gradual process."_

 _Kiku shrugged, expressionless. His blank brown eyes revealed nothing of his feelings and his tone suggested that he spoke only the facts. "The creators of Paradizo were not selfish. They never expected to live to see the final result of Paradizo—although I doubt they'd have expected it to corrupt so quickly and so terribly. But sadly this world is neither Heaven nor Hell. Nothing is immortal."_

 _"Hm." He made a noncommittal sound, seemingly bored, but his eyes were bright—brighter than Kiku had seen it in a long time._ Perhaps _, the Japanese man thought_ , the boy has not yet died.

 _So Kiku continued, "And this organization: it is not charity; it is profit. Many things become much more bearable when you receive money as a result. This may have been their dream, but it wasn't their everything."_

 _"But it cost them everything."_

 _Kiku paused. "Their lives, yes, but not everything."_

 _He made that neutral little sound again. "But to rely and trust so heavily on a future dependent on people who are not them, in a time past their control—it is not very wise."_

 _Kiku was silent. Slowly, he began to roll up the map again, although there was also much less care in his actions. His eyes, dull as always, seemed a hundred thousand miles away. It was possible that he had not heard._

 _But then, as the Japanese man made to leave the room, he paused at the doorway and turned to him. "No, one would never call them wise. But you must realize, Mister Lukas Bondevik, often times, it is the wise men who find it most difficult to dream."_

* * *

It never quite occurred to Mathias how little he knew about Lukas.

He knew some of the little things, like how he needed two cups of coffee every morning, one black, one with three teaspoons of milk, to fully wake up. He knew that Lukas liked to remind Emil to eat his vegetables, even as he picked on them himself. He knew that Lukas disliked being reminded that he was still a child and that he was not almighty and this world was possibly too big for him; and because Lukas knew that the others were right but didn't like this feeling of being out of control, Lukas liked to make promises.

He made a lot of promises, usually small things, like, _'I promise to do the groceries tomorrow'_ , or, _'I promise to pick you up afterschool today'_ , so he was always able to keep those promises.

But it was strange. Lukas had never made a promise to Mathias. The closest had been, _'I swear to God, if you come into my room without permission one more time I will actually kill you.'_

It didn't really count because he was promising something to God, not to Mathias. It was also one of the few promises that Lukas broke, because when Mathias strolled into his room two days later, he did not kill him. Just rolled his eyes and told him to either be quiet or leave.

So Mathias had sat down on his bed, his mouth dutifully shut, and watched Lukas work.

Mathias also knew that Lukas could only barely tolerate him sometimes, but there was also something beneath those snappy words and stinging remarks that were peaceful and patient, not in the kind way, but almost as if he was too weary to be riled up.

Mathias knew that Lukas was not a dreamer. There was something that tied him back from dreaming and kept him living in the present and past. This was so very different from Mathias, who had no past and his only present is to hope for the next memory he could make before it slipped from him again.

Sometimes Mathias looked at Lukas and saw someone else, someone stubborn and strong and had burned short and bright. Mathias was a dying man, and sometimes when the darkness pressed too close he found himself looking for Lukas. Because Lukas was his cure; and sometimes in those silent moments in the height of day or dead of night when he felt like he would actually die, drown in the shadows of his own mind, he would grope desperately for Lukas, just the thought of him, a fragment of a memory of a gentle brush of fingers or a few whispered words.

Mathias knew that Lukas was afraid. He was always afraid of something no one else could see. As he lived he walked on fearlessly, but looked back every few steps as if there was a ghost creeping behind him and he couldn't shake it off. He was always cautious, always wary, and maybe making promises was his way of dealing with it, of trying to predict the future.

In this sense, Lukas and Mathias were polar opposites. Mathias was not fond of promises; he felt like every promise he had ever spoken had been completely shattered. But at the same time he wasn't completely against it, which was why one midnight in the middle of Australia, the first time in nearly two years since he had remembered anything from his past, he made a promise. One last promise that he did not dare utter aloud in case Hell heard and shattered it again.

He promised to the boy broken and weeping before him, who had called his name _"Mathias"_ in such a vulnerable and distant voice, that he would never hurt him again and that he would do everything he could to protect him against all harm.

Because every child, whether they were born from Heaven or Hell, deserved to be saved. The way Lukas saved Mathias, Mathias promised to save him.

 _"Mathias_."

The voice was familiar, but it came from the darkness, too far away for him to recognize. He made a promise to a boy he barely remembered and barely knew, and then he vowed to himself that he would keep this promise no matter what.

 _"I forgive you."_

The lights from a distant city flickered and grew and danced in a darkness purer than the night around them. They illuminated the boy before him, a boy with eyes of the North and tear-stained cheeks and hair finer than golden spider-silk, a boy who thought he knew everything but the truth was that he didn't even know himself.

It was like looking into a mirror.

This boy then smiled and it was a wretched, heartbroken thing; but it was a smile, and somehow that was all that mattered.

 _"Thank you."_

And then the lights went out.

* * *

Mathias woke up to find himself tied to a chair in a simple living room. His senses were distorted, the walls were bent and oblong, the voices around him echoed incomprehensibly, as if people were speaking through a layer of glass and foam.

 _"He's awake."_

Then all of a sudden, the world gave a jerk and straightened itself up, and Mathias's senses returned to him.

He was tied to a chair in a living room with simple but familiar furnishing. There were some alters and tweaks, but all in all he knew that he had been here before, although whether it was tied to a chair, he did not know. The room was filled with people, most of whom he knew and three that he didn't, but all of them were staring at him. His mouth was dry, his throat grated as if he had been screaming and the bonds were cutting into his wrist.

"Good morning, sunshine," an amused voice said. The speaker was a pale man with silver hair and intense, crimson eyes, sprawled in an armchair, observing Mathias with a lazy smirk.

"My name is not Sunshine," Mathias told the man. "I am Mathias."

"How fascinating," the man replied. "I am Gilbert."

"I know your name is Gilbert." He really didn't, but he vaguely remembered knowing this man and he thought that the name fitted.

"As enlightening as this conversation is," another person spoke, a young man with dark brown curls and narrowed green eyes that glinted gold, "I propose that both of you shut up."

"Thank you, Lovi," a girl hovering near Mathias sighed in relief while Lovi looked pleased, "I wasn't sure if speaking to these people would be good for my health."

"Emma," whined Gilbert, "That's _mean_."

"And _you_ are annoying," a voice piped up by the kitchen doorway, where two young men stood. They seemed to be brothers, although the resemblance was vague; it was the way they both looked at Gilbert with an unimpressed and slightly exasperated gaze that made them seem more similar.

The one who had spoken was the younger of the two, a boy maybe a year or two younger than Mathias, with pale blonde curls that were swept over one eye. He looked more amiable than his older brother, who was scowling at everyone in the room, especially at Gilbert.

Gilbert scowled back, opened his mouth as if about to snap at the man, but a young girl, perched on the couch next to Lovi, spoke before he could get a word out. "Mister Gilbert?"

"Yes, Lilli?" The scowl morphed into a dazzling, doting smile that the silver-haired man turned to the girl.

"Wouldn't it be best if we…" she paused, slightly unsure of how to phrase her question. "Should we…?"

"I've been here before," Mathias declared.

Gilbert chuckled. "Yes, you have."

"Mr. Gilbert," Lilli spoke again, "I think we should untie him."

"Do we must?" Lovi sighed. "He's much less annoying this way, don't you think? Not in the mood to talk and embarrass himself."

True, Mathias was feeling a bit put out. His bonds were not very tight but they still chaffed his wrists, and his head was beginning to ache. It was a familiar kind of throb, the one that warned him that he was trying too hard to remember something that he should not. There was something unsettling about his position, but whether or not it had something to do with the past was a mystery. Either way, waking up tied to a chair was never a good omen.

"Mathias Køhler." The boy by the doorway spoke again, his expression curious. "Are you really _the_ Mathias Køhler? As in the Viking?"

Mathias shrugged.

"I like Vikings," he answered simply. "They're cool."

"Short-term memory," Gilbert explained, speaking as if Mathias wasn't present in the room. "Something happened to him three years ago that, instead of killing him, gave him the memory-span of a goldfish instead. Awfully useful sometimes, if I must say. It's nice he doesn't remember that the last time he was here, I tried to kill him."

"Mister Gilbert!" Lilli was horrified.

Gilbert threw his hands in the air. "In my defense, he cut himself."

"In _his_ defense," Emma cut in, "He's a retard."

"I'm not a retard," Mathias protested in a slightly defensive tone, "I have short-term memory."

"Nearly a retard," said Lovi, unimpressed, "With a memory so short you probably don't even remember what had happened before you got knocked out."

At those words a hush suddenly swept across the room.

 _"Mathias."_

Mathias frowned. "Knocked out?" Although now that Lovi mentioned it, it was possible that the throbbing in his head was not because he was thinking too hard, but because someone had bashed him in the head.

 _"Mathias, I need you to calm down."_

"Yeah," Gilbert said cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the atmosphere. "I had to karate-chop you three times in the back of the neck before you would stop screaming."

 _"Killing everyone on this plane will not help you find Lukas."_

Maybe he _was_ thinking too hard. His head gave another particularly painful throb. "Screaming?"

 _"You need to_ calm down _."_

Lovi hesitated. "You really don't remember anything, do you?"

Mathias didn't reply. His head felt like it was splitting apart.

 _"Mathias."_

He could hear something shrieking inside his head. It sounded like a frightened animal. He wanted to cover his ears, but his hands were still tied and he couldn't find the strength to break free. He squeezed his eyes shut. Lights danced across the back of his eyelids. They pulsed and glowed and became images that shifted and changed so quickly he couldn't see what was happening inside those little motion pictures, only catch glimpses of blurry faces and echoes of muffled voices.

 _"Lukas will be_ fine _."_

He felt like he was burning, gasping and shuddering for air. There was a pressure on his shoulder, and the entire left side of his body burst into flames.

 _—_ I'll be fine _, she had said._ They will not hurt me. I can help you escape _—but he shouldn't have believed her. It was only when he was drenched in her blood, crushed beneath her corpse did he realize that he had never truly believed her in the first place—_

"Mister Køhler?"

Mathias jerked. His eyes flew open with a gasp. The girl named Emma was peering at him concernedly, a gentle hand rubbing his shoulder and back. "Are you okay?"

"Wha-What?" Mathias blinked, disoriented, his throat feeling dry and swollen. It was painful to speak.

"I think we should untie him," a young voice—Lilli—spoke softly yet firmly. The touch on his shoulder disappeared to be replaced by a pressure and pulls and twists at his wrists before he was finally freed. Mathias lurched forward on his seat, nearly falling out of it if it wasn't for Emma who grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

"Mathias," she called. His name sounded strange on her lips, like she didn't believe what she was saying. "Are you okay?"

"The plane," Mathias gasped. "What happened—?"

"A boy named Emil called you. We told the boy to meet up with Vash Zwingli," Lovi—no, _Lovino_ , Mathias remembered abruptly, his mind reeling—said in curt, straightforward tones. "We called Vash, told him to pick the boy up. We received a call back from him just now before you woke up. They've met up, and Emil is currently safely with Vash."

"Woke up…?" Mathias was dazed. The names rang in his head. _Vash. Emil. Lukas._

Lukas.

"Goodness, just when we thought you might be regaining your memories," said Gilbert loftily. Mathias had not realized that he had spoken aloud. "It's an improvement though, I must say. You're making connections."

"Lukas," he repeated, louder. "Where's Lukas? What happened—"

"Not much of an improvement," Lovino grumbled lightly. "According to Emil, Lukas was trapped in the Prison, so we've got Vash investigating for us. Last time he called, he confirmed that this person named Lukas is indeed being held in the Prison, although he is scheduled for a transport quite soon. He couldn't get any details though."

"The fact that he got _anything_ was impressive enough," the boy standing at the kitchen doorway said. "You are exploiting him."

"We're protecting his sister," Gilbert pointed out. "He's supposed to be eternally grateful to us."

"People like Vash will not be _eternally grateful_ to you just because you saved his sister," the older brother of the boy by the doorway spoke for the first time, his tone as cold and harsh as the yellow-green shade of his narrowed eyes. "After all, we are born of Hell."

* * *

Feliciano Vargas was pouting like the child he was and Ludwig Beilschmidt was feeling guilty while Kiku Honda was watching passively from the sidelines.

It occurred to Ludwig at that moment that this was a reoccurring situation amongst them three, and he realized also that he doubted there was anything he could do about it, unless he wanted to go find Gilbert and live with _him_ , which was an unflattering thought, to say the least. This situation, however, also put him in a very uncomfortable place. Feliciano had a way of making him feel like a villain, like he was unfair and unjust and cruel, especially with that pout.

That God- _awful_ pout and puppy eyes glazed over with tears that were just somehow always conveniently there.

It was times like these that Ludwig was extremely grateful for the presence of Kiku, who—if Feliciano was his downfall—was the logical and reasonable part of him.

"Honestly, Feli," Ludwig said irritably, "You know that I don't let you pilot."

"But I want to!"

"Just because you want to don't mean you should."

"Why not?!"

"Feli, please wear your seatbelt properly." That was Kiku, watching with a light frown as Feliciano threw a tantrum on his seat.

"But I want to pilot!" Now Feli turned upon Kiku. _As if he'd be able to convince Ludwig to let Feliciano fly the plane_ , the Japanese man thought bemusedly. _Not that he was crazy enough to do that._ Stubborn Germans were more immovable than mountains, although stubborn Italians might be able to rival them with their fiery and passionate tempers. However, Italians were also madmen behind the wheel, and Kiku valued his life more than he valued Feliciano's feelings.

"Pilots also wear seatbelts, Feli," replied Kiku with a hint of a smile. "And besides, California is quite far away. Ludwig is just worried that you might get lost—"

"I won't!" Feliciano declared, pouting once more.

"—or that you might get tired from flying too long," Kiku continued. "Just let Ludwig do all the hard work. You can take a nap, and when we get there, maybe we can go to Disneyland?"

Feliciano's face lit up at the mention of Disneyland. "Ooh… Ludwig! Can we go to Disneyland? It's in California! Let's go to Disney, Ludwig! Pretty please? Ludwig, _per favore_?"

 _No, we can't_ , Ludwig thought to himself. They weren't flying from Tokyo to California on a private plane for fun and games. But to Feliciano he said, "We'll have to see."

Taking that as an affirmative, Feliciano cheered, but his companions remained silent and grim. No, California was not a vacation stop; they were there to pay a debt, and if possible, to seek revenge.

It was a life for a life after all; and freedom was freedom, even if it was a freedom in chains.

* * *

 **I AM STILL ALIVE!**

 **Barely, but alive nonetheless. Apologies for being absent for so long, and admittedly, this chapter isn't good enough to make up for all the months I've neglected my writing (but the mixture of a writer's block and school-stress is hazardous and possibly fatal. I don't suggest it). This chapter was originally much, much longer than my usual chapters, around seven thousand words of nothing-happening-whatsoever. I was very unsatisfied with it, so I rewrote it several times and cut it down to three thousand six hundred words of nothing-happening-whatsoever. Nothing's happening quite a lot, huh? Hopefully, now that summer has begun, I will be able to update more regularly.**

 **Thank you for reading, and please Review! They are much appreciated. )**


	15. Hot Knives and Cold Cuts

**Hi! Here's the next chapter.**

 **Warning: Torture scene. Fortunately, I've never been tortured before, but that unfortunately means that I actually have no idea what it feels like, so the torture scene in this chapter is completely my speculations of how it may be like.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

"This is ridiculous. This is the plane all over again!"

"I admit, it's dumb, it's probably not going to work, but he insisted—"

"He insisted! He _insisted_?! When did we ever agree that doing what _he_ insisted is the right thing to do?"

"I never said it's the _right_ thing to do; it's the only thing unless you want us to sit here on our asses and wait for a miracle!"

Lovino stopped pacing to turn and stare directly at Gilbert, his face calm but his green-golden eyes smoldering with fury—miles away from his usual vociferous tantrums. "I never said that was what we were going to do."

"Oh, so you've got a better plan, _genius_?" Gilbert sneered.

"Ugh!" The Italian threw his hands into the air in frustration, resuming his pacing. Gilbert resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look—"

"No, _you_ look." Lovino stopped abruptly again. "Mathias Køhler is probably the most wanted man since Bin Laden—"

"Okay, no, you can't do that," Gilbert interrupted. "These are two completely different men. Bin Laden's wanted _internationally_. According to the heads of the world, Mathias doesn't even exist. Bin Laden's a terrorist. Mathias… I'm not sure what he is but I sure as hell am not going to call him one. These are completely different cases and don't you compare them like that."

"Okay." Lovino agreed slowly. "Okay, fine. But you get what I mean. The Underworld _wants_ Mathias and we all know that despite his mental disabilities _he is a weapon_."

"The Underworld wants to _kill_ him," Gilbert reminded.

"There's a reason why they didn't kill him three years ago," Lovino countered.

"Well." Now it was Gilbert's turn to throw his hands in the air. "Too late for that I guess."

"What are they arguing about in there?" Nathan asked his sister, where the two of them stood guard in front of a closed door. "That's my room and I want to go in."

"They've looked the door." Emma shrugged. "They're talking in whispers though—"

"Harsh, furious whispers," added the younger brother.

"—so I'm not sure what exactly they're talking about, but every time they sound particularly angry, Mathias's name comes up."

"That's ridiculous," Nathan scoffed. "It's not like they can do anything about it. Mathias is already heading back to California."

"Yes, well…" Emma trailed off. "He did throw up an awful racket to go, didn't he?"

Her brother shrugged. "He _is_ the Viking. He's probably used to getting what he wanted."

Emma was quiet. "I don't think he would have wanted to lose his memories like that. It doesn't seem like he wanted to forget."

"Maybe," Nathan said wisely. "Maybe he had no other choice."

* * *

 _"But sir, he is_ dangerous _. Wouldn't it be better to just… execute him?"_

 _"Yes," a different voice said. "That was the original plan, wasn't it?"_

 _"No, that had never been the plan." A third voice, slightly accented, pleasant and cold. "It was simply what we told the rest of the Underworld to quell further rebellion. The death of the Viking will be devastating to his allies; destroys their fighting spirit. We need all the talent we can get, and Paradizo had always had a knack of unearthing talents."_

 _"So we're just going to treat him like—like a common criminal?"_

 _"Of course," the third voice sounded amused. "Because that's what he is—a common criminal. I want him transferred into the lab in Boston, but you can get a head start. To the rest of the world, the Viking dies tonight."_

Mathias woke with voices ringing and echoing in his skull. For a moment he felt disoriented, as if he was still blindfolded in a white metal room, tied to a hard chair where he had thought he was to be executed. Then he noticed how tightly his hands were gripping the arms of his seat and heard the rumbling of an engine and realized that he was on a plane.

Through the open cockpit door he could hear Alfred's booming voice singing off-key with some pop song he couldn't identify and wondered briefly where they were going and why the plane, usually filled with some boxes and cargo of some sort, was completely empty. And judging by the fresh lemony scent and lack of general dust, the airplane had been recently cleaned.

His breathing and heart rate calmer, Mathias pulled up the shade of the window to watch as land cut into his view, blue sea lapping up sunny beaches and beautiful houses with a wonderful view.

Mathias blinked, observing the tiny cars speeding down winding roads. The awful singing cut off abruptly, replaced by uncertain voices. The plane dipped. They were going to land.

Mathias wondered momentarily why they were in California, but there were some things that he simply could not forget.

Reaching for his bag, he checked one more time all the equipment he had managed to fit inside—an impressive collection. But maybe he needed more guns.

* * *

It was like a scene out of a stereotypical spy movie, with the guards and cuffs and ominous lighting that peeked through his blindfold. Except now that he was actually in it, Lukas realized that it really wasn't as cool as it had seemed on television.

For one, that blindfold was really irritating. It made walking a strangely frightening experience, and the four guards who had escorted him to wherever he was now did not help at all. The moment he heard the grind of metal hinges swinging open he knew that he was in big trouble, and that thought was confirmed when he was pushed harshly into a cold, hard chair and his arms and legs were tightly secured. Unfortunately, the blindfold did not come off.

It made the wait feel much longer, and the longer each second dragged on, the more stressed Lukas became. He could feel his heartbeat quicken with each passing minute, his breathing patterns turning erratic and panicked; he felt cold all over, but when he clenched his fists, they were slick with sweat.

 _Be strong, Lukas_. It was strange how Mathias had once mistaken Lukas's voice as his own conscience and now his voice was whispering encouragements to Lukas.

The silence was the worst part. He wished that the guards would chat a bit, maybe exchange a few gruff words, but they were silent and still as statues wherever they were positioned around the room, which that was why when the door opened and clanged shut again, Lukas found himself suddenly calming from the single, condemning sound.

"Out."

Lukas jolted from the familiarity of the voice. It was feminine and cold, commanding and deadly in its softness. He heard four pairs of feet march out of the room, the door clanged one more time, the sound echoing around him, and then they were alone.

"No doubt you know what is coming next." It was unsettling how familiar the voice sounded, but Lukas couldn't figure out where exactly he had heard it before. For some reason, he found himself thinking about Emil.

The woman approached him, her heels clicking on the floor. She stopped a short distance before him. When she spoke, she sounded like a schoolteacher introducing herself on the first day of school.

"I am Magyar." There was a short pause. "Whether or not you've heard of me it not important, although it may be better if you have. If you didn't, well, you'll learn to fear me soon enough."

The silence that followed was expectant, except Lukas didn't know how he was expected to respond. He couldn't think of anything sarcastic, not when his brain was still on the verge of panic and wondering why he knew the voice. In the end, all he could manage was,

"That's nice."

Magyar gave a low chuckle. Then Lukas felt hands on his face, tilting his head upwards and turning it this way and that as if Magyar was examining him.

"What is your name?"

Uncomfortable with the touch, he jerked away from her hands and did not answer. But he was tied down on a chair, and there wasn't much he could do as Magyar thread her gentle fingers through pale golden locks of his hair. The brush of her touch sent shudders down his back, but then suddenly the grip tightened and Lukas felt a painful tug as she wrenched his head up.

"I suggest you answer me, boy, and the truth, please, if you don't mind. You don't know what I already know, and we wouldn't want those ugly lies carving up your pretty little face."

 _She's mad_ , Lukas thought. Of course the interrogator would be a crazy sadist. They always were. And if he had to be completely honest, despite being surrounded by madmen (and women) in the past year, he still wasn't entirely sure how to deal with them.

"So let me ask you again." Lukas's eyes were watering from the ache building in his scalp. "What is your name?"

He remained silent, but only until Magyar gave another hard tug and he hissed. His scalp felt like it was going to peel off. "Sigurd Steilsson."

His father's name and his mother's maiden name. He never thought that his dead parents would be much good to him—especially when they were found with their throats slit from ear to ear—much less in an interrogation. Not that he ever thought he'd be in this position either.

 _Be strong, Lukas._

"Good." She released her hold, and Lukas couldn't help but let out an inaudible sigh of relief. "Why are you here?"

That dreadful question. There was no lie that would sound plausible, but he had to try anyway.

"I was hiking, and… I got lost."

"No." Of course not. It was a pathetic barely-an-attempt of a lie and both of them knew it. "You were looking for someone. Who?"

Lukas didn't know how to respond. He felt like if he answered that question, the seams would unravel and everything would spill.

He heard it first: a crisp sound that echoed around the room. Then his face was forced to one side and then the pain exploded in his left cheek. There was a faint, metallic tang in his mouth: he had accidentally bitten his lip when Magyar had slapped him.

"Answer me."

He could feel her get ready to slap him again; he could sense the oncoming assault the same way he could feel himself waver. _Be strong, Lukas._

"A dead man."

Magyar paused. "What is his name?"

But Lukas persisted, "I am searching for a dead man."

"Why?"

"I need to make sure that he is dead."

"Why?"

Lukas's lip curled, even though his heart was racing at an incredible speed and he could feel his hands shaking. "Dead men belong to the dead. They have no place in life."

Magyar hummed an amused agreement. "Somebody else was with you: a boy. Who was he?"

"There was no one else with me. I came alone."

"My soldiers saw him. You told him to run. Who was the boy?"

"Somebody I picked up on my hike."

"How did he escape from a room with no exit save for a door blocked by guards?"

Lukas shrugged. "I was too busy trying to not get killed by _your soldiers_ to notice."

"You are lying." Magyar's voice was deadly quiet, hushed as if she was sharing with him a secret that would get him killed. "Your name is Lukas Bondevik and you are looking for Mathias Køhler. You came with Emil Steilsson, your brother, but somehow, he escaped, while you did not."

Lukas's heartbeat stuttered.

"As I said, do not underestimate me. You do not know what I already know."

 _Please, Lukas. Be strong. For me._

He could feel her circling him, a predator readying to strike.

"And as for those lies…" She stopped behind him and leaned down so that her breath brushed past his ear in a murmur, gentle and tender and wicked. "We will have to carve them out of you, won't we?"

And it didn't matter how many times Mathias pleaded for him to be brave, when he felt a cold blade cut through the thin fabric of his shirt and leave burning trails of blood down his left shoulder blade, he felt something inside him shatter.

* * *

"When can we go to Disneyland?"

"Not yet, Feli."

"But you promised!" Feliciano whined.

Ludwig sighed. "I did not promise anything. I said 'We'll see', and right now, all I see is that we do not have the time or money to go to Disneyland."

"Then when can we go to Disneyland?"

Ludwig could not resist a sigh. "Not now, Feli. We have a job to do."

Feliciano visibly deflated, a note of a whine in his voice when he said, "But you said—"

"Feli, please," Kiku spoke, his voice soothingly calm, "Remember, we have a job to do."

"Oh!" the Italian perked up again. "The secret mission!"

"Yes." Ludwig nodded approvingly. "Does everyone remember their parts? Feli, tell me again what you're supposed to do."

"Disguise, discover the object, extract the object!"

"Okay." Surveying his two friends, Ludwig took a heavy breath. His expression was weary but he stood as straight and proud as he always did.

The uniform fitted him—Feliciano couldn't help but notice almost admiringly. It gave his broad shoulders a sharp cut and threw his perfect features into a harsh yet beautiful light. Feliciano felt awkward in his—he was never meant to be a soldier. He was an artist, and fidgeting in the too-baggy pants and too-heavy coat, all he wanted to do was to paint the perfect soldier beside him.

Running around all over Asia the past few months had been fun, but now all Feliciano wanted to do was sit down and paint.

"Feli." Feliciano jumped a little when Ludwig called his name suddenly through the silence that had settled into the car. "Remember, leave the talking to me. Don't open your mouth. And stay out of sight."

Feliciano pouted, but remained obediently quiet. He didn't trust himself to speak anyway, not without bursting into frightened tears, most likely.

"Let's go."

He gulped nervously, slipping out of the car behind Ludwig.

"Please be careful," Kiku called from the driver's seat. "And hurry."

Ludwig nodded grimly, a soldier steeling himself for battle. Feliciano closed the car door and turned to the imposing grey structure looming over them.

He remembered the last time he was here. The cuffs had been too tight, the guards escorting them too intimidating, and the thought of death had been too much to bear at the time. But he had been with his brother, and even though both of them had been on the verge of tears and both of them were cowards, there was a comfort in family that could not be found in friend.

Feliciano felt suddenly alone and afraid, even though Ludwig usually made him feel safe. He longed for his brother, his stubborn posture and colorful attitude, but his brother was dead.

"Let's go," Ludwig said again.

Feliciano couldn't do much more but nod. He took a shuddering breath, felt himself flicker, then fade, and now invisible, he followed Ludwig to the doorsteps of the Underworld Prison.

* * *

With enough pain, you can achieve anything.

Lukas had never truly understood the power of pain until he had screamed, begged, wept for Magyar to stop, for a bit of mercy, for somebody to come and free him from his chaffing bonds and dark, metal prison and that cold, brutal knife carving words down his back.

She had paused after the first word. "Tell me, how did your brother escape? Do you know where he is now? Where is he headed?"

Lukas had shaken his head. He couldn't think, he didn't know, he couldn't speak. Magyar asked him questions he could not truly answer. If only she asked something else, something to make this stop, something that could save him and not let his silence to condemn him.

When the knife had touched his skin again, he could barely feel it, but instead heard himself scream as the pain gathering in his back intensified. _Be strong, Lukas._

"Where is Mathias Køhler? Did you aid him in his escape—or is this all just a coincidence that the man you are looking for here disappeared from this Prison just after your capture?"

 _Escape?_

"I guess not then," Magyar had whispered. She withdrew the knife, leaving Lukas panting and sobbing and dizzy with blood loss, mind reeling at the single word he had not realized he had uttered. "You did not know that Mathias Køhler had escaped, so you took no part of their plan and you don't know where he is right now." She had paused, pacing, her victim trembling as she prowled past. "Do you know nothing at all, Mister Bondevik?"

Lukas had to force the words out his mouth, his throat raw and broken from screaming, his lips bloodied and torn when he had bitten down in attempt to suppress his pleas for mercy. "I do not know what you already know."

"No," Magyar had replied quietly. "You do not." She had stopped in front of him, and once again, Lukas wished that he could get rid of the blindfold. He wondered if seeing his torturer would make this easier. Somehow, he doubted it. "At this moment, I ask the questions, you give the answers—but it is true: I know much more than you, things about you that you yourself do not even know about. You are useless to me.

"But there are some things you can answer. A few simple questions—though perhaps more like confirmations—for you; just tell me 'yes' or 'no'."

Lukas had nodded, desperate for this chance that kept him—even if only for a short amount of time—away from that wretched blade.

"Your brother Emil: was he, or was he not, in the Australian Laboratory for a short amount of time?"

"Yes."

"Did you, or did you not, with the help of Mathias Køhler and Gilbert Beilschmidt, break the experiments out of the Lab, then proceeded to bomb it into nonexistence?"

 _And Antonio Fernández-Carriedo and Francis Bonnefoy and many others who had feared you and hated you so much that they whispered your name like you were death itself—but they had defied death the same way they defied you._

But all he said was, "Yes."

"Did Emil take something from us?"

 _Pain and shadows and a crippled arm, yes._ But he knew that that wasn't what Magyar had meant.

"Yes."

"Good." Lukas could not see but he could hear the satisfied smile in her voice. "One last question." _And then what? What would happen next, when he had become truly and completely useless to her?_

"Was your mother's name Laila Steilsson?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good." Magyar's voice was a barely audible whisper, as if this confirmation was all that she had wanted. "Thank you, Mister Bondevik."

But why? What did his mother, dead for ten years, have to do with anything?

 _Remember her slit throat_ , a little voice in the back of his head whispered. _Remember the blood. Remember the man with the knife, the man with green eyes and sorrow, the man who had spared your life._

But Lukas's thoughts were cut off by the cold blade that once more settled on his skin, sending a shudder through him that shook him to his core. However, the knife did not cut into him—not yet.

He felt Magyar's hand on the back of his head, threading through his golden blonde hair. Then she grabbed his blindfold and flung it off. Lukas found himself squinting despite the dim lighting, and for a moment, he thought that he had gone blind, because he simply could not see.

Before his eyes could adjust, however, the knife cut into him, and once again, he screamed, his eyes squeezed shut, his mind narrowed onto the fiery, relentless pain building up in the point of the knife. Once again he was breaking, begging, blind, a fool with no backbone, who could not even raise his head to look at his torturer in the eyes.

He did not know what Magyar was carving into him, and he didn't care. All he knew was that he was not made for this, he was not made for strength or bravery or heroics. He was weak, and Magyar knew it. She knew it, and she used it, and Lukas had let her.

He was losing too much blood; it had dripped down his chair and formed a small puddle around him. His head felt too heavy to lift, and when he finally forced himself to open his eyes, to see, he found his vision marred with black patches.

"Just a little bit more, dear," Magyar whispered, but Lukas could barely hear her. "Don't go just yet."

He was tied down. He couldn't go even if he wanted, for goodness' sake.

He could feel his struggles weaken, his eyes began to slide shut once more; he felt defeated.

 _Be strong, Lukas._

 _I'm sorry, Mathias._ He let his head drop. The pain had become such a continuous, constant thing that he could not feel it anymore. He didn't have the strength to scream, or struggle, or plead. _I can't._

 _Be strong, Lukas. For me._

 _For you._

"There." Magyar stepped away from him, tossing the knife away. "All done." She circled around in front of him, and he felt her fingertips brush his cheek, stained with tears. "Rest now."

 _Be strong._

Lukas's vision began to fade. He could feel himself slipping. But with a final bit of will, perhaps brought to him by Mathias's persistent voice, he raised his head and found himself staring at his tormentor. Blue eyes met green.

He could not speak but his lips moved, a final message for the devil. _Damn you to hell._

Magyar smiled. He could see it through the darkness of his fading sight. His head drooped, his body sagged against his bonds. Only Magyar's soft hands on his shoulders kept him upright. The darkness pressed against him, suffocating him, pulling him under.

"Damn me to hell," Elizabeta Héderváry agreed.

The darkness surged over him, and there was nothing more.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	16. Red Lights

**Warning: Crappy chapter. I am actually very unsatisfied with this chapter, but oh well.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

The Prison brought back unpleasant memories.

He did not spend a lot of time in the cells, having been transferred soon after they've lost track of his brother. No doubt Gilbert had always thought that he had remained trapped in the Prison until their sudden and hasty reunion in the Labs. Gilbert had told him about how he had always tried to think of a scheme to get him out, but had always been shot down by Francis and Antonio.

This time, however, it was Gilbert in the Prison, and Ludwig had been hired by his brother's two peculiar friends to scheme him out.

"Something's wrong," Feliciano murmured the moment they stepped through the metal door. Ludwig could feel him sticking close behind him, but he momentarily disappeared as they passed through a makeshift checkpoint that hadn't been here the last time he came. It was crude, like the ones in a Chinese airport, and the guards monitoring the machines were just as careless. Ludwig handed over his I.D.—customized by Francis—and allowed himself to be patted down before passing on, all without a hitch. Feliciano's presence joined him at his side soon afterwards. He had probably skirted around the entire system, which was good, considering that he was the one with all the tools; Ludwig had only a pistol on him, and even if he could probably bring down the building with a single push if he was standing in the right spot, he could not block a barrage of bullets, and that made him feel somewhat vulnerable.

He felt a gentle brush against his hand, and then something dropped into his hand: an ear comm., one of Antonio's newest toys. It was about the size of the nail of his pinky, small enough that when Ludwig quickly stuck the device into his ear, it was completely invisible unless you peer closely into his right ear—which, now that Ludwig thought about it, was something completely in character for Gilbert to do in a whim of weirdness. Hopefully the guards in the Prison were not as special, observant, or paranoid as his brother.

"We need to get to the computers," Ludwig told Feliciano out of the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know where that is…" Feliciano sounded vaguely disappointed, and Ludwig was about to assure him that he didn't either when two guards rounded the corner and spotted him.

"Haven't seen you around here before," greeted one, a huge, bulking figure of the typical military cut. "Are you one of the reinforcements Magyar requested?"

 _Reinforcements?_ "Yes," Ludwig replied, "though if I'm honest, I don't really know what I'm doing here."

The guard shrugged. "None of us really do. Just stand guard somewhere and act like you do, that's how we do it 'round here."

His companion, a shorter, slighter man with ruffled dark hair rolled his eyes. "And _that_ is why we needed reinforcements in the first place." He turned to Ludwig. "Let me tell you why you're here. Three prisoners have recently escaped despite our best efforts. On the other hand, we've gained a very special prisoner. Magyar is meeting with him right now."

Ludwig was momentarily stumped by the information dumped down onto him. Three escaped prisoners and one addition. "Magyar is here?"

"Of course. Didn't you hear anything I said just now?"

He could feel Feliciano pressing close to him, his phantom form tense and his muffled breaths quick and nervous.

"Who were the escaped prisoners?" Ludwig asked. "Are they of high importance?"

The shorter guard shrugged. "Two of them were dangerous criminals who wrecked havoc during their wild escape. The other was a V.I.P." He spared Ludwig a curious look. "You might have heard of him."

"Who?" Ludwig pressed.

It was the tall guard who answered, "They call him the Prussian."

There was a sharp gasp close behind him that was quickly muffled. Ludwig himself felt like he had been punched in the gut. Gilbert was gone. He had escaped from this place even before Ludwig had gotten here to save him.

He had the sudden urge to smile. Of course, that was what Gilbert would do; it sounded just like him.

"It's funny though," the shorter guard commented offhandedly, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Not soon after the three vanished, we managed to capture somebody who had managed to infiltrate the Prison. Rumor's going around that he was trying to break out the Prussian."

The taller guard snorted. "Ridiculous."

"Look where it got him," the shorter guard scoffed lightly. "In his very own V.I.P. room."

Ludwig mentally grimaced. "Good riddance."

"Either way," the guard said, "We've got to get going. Have fun."

The taller guard chortled, and the two parted. Ludwig stared after them for a moment before turning and continuing down the hall.

"The V.I.P. rooms," he murmured, almost to himself. There was a feathery touch on his arm. It was in rare moments like these when Feliciano seemed to have discarded his childish persona for a person Ludwig might have known if he had met Feliciano before the Lab.

"We'll find him," his invisible companion whispered.

Ludwig had no doubt they would. He was certainly curious who—other than himself—would want to save his brother.

* * *

Kiku watched his two friends hurry deeper into the Prison from his somewhat concealed position in the car. It made him uneasy to be so far away from them, but he was too physically weak to join them. The most he could do was watch their progress and keep a lookout.

The comm. in his ear crackled. _"Did you hear that?"_

The conversation just now solved practically every mystery and question Kiku had. _The guards were stupid_ , he thought almost bitterly. Just three years ago, they were at least competent, but now… it was no wonder several prisoners managed to break out.

"That explains why I couldn't find Gilbert at first," he replied.

 _"Do you see Magyar?"_

"Yes," Kiku confirmed. His eyes, able to see through any kind of barrier, scanned the structure of the Prison until he found an intimidating figure stalking down the halls, purpose and confidence in her every step. The bloodied knife in her hands and gleam in her eyes suggested that she had just enjoyed a rather successful torture session. "She's heading away from you guys, so it should be fine." He extracted his gaze from Magyar and returned to the structure of the Prison. "Head to the Northern section. The V.I.P. rooms are there."

Ludwig gave an imperceptible nod, Feliciano a blurred shadow that only Kiku could see, and the two began heading towards the direction he pointed them in.

Most of the V.I.P. cells were empty. In fact, only one of them was occupied.

 _How convenient_.

"He's in V.I.P. room number 11," Kiku informed Ludwig. "You should hurry up. He looks like he's in pretty bad shape."

Kiku squinted at the occupant of the room. He was chained to a chair which—if the amount of blood staining the metal was anything to go by—was the exact chair he had been tortured in, and although he had been roughly cleaned up and bandaged, something about him did not seem to have been patched up right. There was a strange familiarity in the figure, as if Kiku had known him before Magyar had broken him, as if he had known what he looked like whole—

But he did. The realization was like a punch in the gut.

"Ludwig," he whispered into the ear-comm., "He's Emil's brother."

* * *

 _Lukas_.

Ludwig barely knew the boy, but it didn't matter; he owed him. Mathias Køhler may have been the one to break the chains, but Lukas was the one who had a direction, a goal that had pointed towards the destruction of the Lab, and Ludwig now not only owed him his freedom, but also his reunion with Gilbert.

 _Life was a strange thing_ , Ludwig mused as he quickened his pace but tried not to appear hurried as they managed their way through the maze of the Prison with a bit of Kiku's help. Lukas had come to the Lab with the intention of freeing Emil, and had freed Ludwig in the process; Ludwig had infiltrated the Prison with the intention of saving Gilbert, but was getting ready to break out Lukas instead.

The Prison was a frustratingly massive labyrinth, which was why Ludwig felt justified for uttering a small, triumphant _"Yes!"_ under his breath when they found V.I.P. room number 7. Each of these Very Important Prisoner cells was much bigger than the normal cells, and also much more heavily technologically guarded. Though all Ludwig could see were small panels on the wall next to a smooth yet foreboding slab of metal that served as a door, he did not doubt that each door was as thick as it was wide, and there were various gears and devices hidden underneath the initial metal plate.

 _V.I.P. Room 11_

"It's this one," Feliciano murmured. His presence was a gentle and reassuring breeze by Ludwig's side. A white card materialized, appearing to float on thin air. "…It doesn't look like this card that I stole from the guard is going to be much help."

Indeed, there was no keyhole and nowhere to slot a card, and the panel asked for a fingerprint check, which—without the help of Francis—Ludwig would be unable to bypass.

The two paused outside Room 11, wondering what they could do now. Of course, Ludwig could always just smash through the door, but then they would need a distraction if they wanted to get out of this place alive—

A sudden alarm blared, startling Ludwig. Feliciano uttered a small shriek and probably jumped about a foot in the air. The white lights of the halls flickered off suddenly, suspending them in momentary darkness before they were replaced by red lights that flashed in rhythm to the screeching alarm.

 _"—Ludwig!"_ His ear comm. crackled. The thick Prison walls were interfering with their communication. _"—intruder… Prison—hurry!"_

Ludwig swore under his breath.

"Screw it," he growled as Feliciano flickered into view, brows furrowed in fear and agitation. "Let's knock this place down."

Feli's frown disappeared, replaced by a grin that was almost maniacal. This Feliciano was not somebody Ludwig knew, but it didn't matter at this moment. "I'll cover you," he said, and that was all Ludwig needed to know.

He put both hands on the door in front of him, and pushed. The structure was dense, but then there was a crunch, and it began to give way as Ludwig's fingers dug into the metal. He secured his grip, then with a violent tug, tore the entire thing out of its frame to reveal—

Another door.

Both of them groaned, somewhat despaired and exasperated by the design of the Prison.

This time, Ludwig didn't even bother being gentle. He simply thrust his hand in and through the door, and with another mighty heave that seemed almost effortless to the tall blonde, he wrenched the door out of their way, discarding it to the side of the plain cell walls bathed in dark red light. The alarm continued to blare, but the shouts were far away. An intruder, if Ludwig was to take a guess. Somebody who, unlike Ludwig and Feliciano, decided to kick down the front door instead of slink past it. It was the perfect distraction, one they had to take as much advantage of as they could.

Feliciano hurried to Lukas's side, frantically checking his pulse and calling his name. Ludwig arrived beside the boy just as he stirred, a raspy groan scraping from his throat as he clawed back into consciousness. Ludwig took hold of his chains and easily pried the cuffs apart. With the help of Feliciano, the two eased Lukas into Ludwig's arms, just as he gave a sudden jerk and a soft cry, almost making Ludwig drop him.

His eyes flew open, wide yet unseeing, and he opened his mouth as if about to scream, but no sound came out other than a harsh expel of air.

"Shh," Feliciano urged him, brushing a few strands of his pale golden hair aside.

 _"—my back—,"_ The sound that passed Lukas's cracked lips could barely be considered words, but somehow Feliciano managed to understand him.

"I know, I know it hurts," the Italian comforted him with the warm honey of his voice. As usual, there was a melodic ring to the way Feliciano spoke, as if he was always on the edge of bursting into a song; but this time it was mournful, like the sound of falling tears and shattered lives. "I know it hurts, but it's going to be okay. We're here, we've got you…"

It worked, to some degree. Ludwig could crush pillars with a single fist, but Feliciano only needed his voice to heal someone, even if it was a temporary band-aid over a gaping wound.

Lukas quieted, but his body was still tense with pain and shock, and he barely acknowledged the fact that Ludwig had him tucked close to his chest like a child; clearly he felt no safety or reassurance despite the kind gesture.

"Let's go," Feliciano told Ludwig, giving Lukas's matted hair another soothing stroke before putting his hand on Ludwig's shoulder as if to guide him and the child in his arms out of this cell and away from this Prison and vanish into a world beyond this hell.

"Ah," said an amused voice, "I thought I would find you here."

Both Ludwig and Feliciano started, but it was more defensive than frightened. Ludwig's eyes couldn't help but focus onto the despicable guard uniform, on the casual hand resting on the butt of a pistol tucked into the belt. He knew that if Feliciano had more of a wild, fighting spirit, he would probably be baring his teeth and hissing like a feral cat, but the Italian was only tense, his fingers digging painfully into Ludwig's shoulder. His golden brown eyes seemed to be smoldering, an angel bearing the wrath of the heavens.

"You," he said simply.

The guard stepped into view. He was the shorter guard from earlier, the one that had stopped to chat with Ludwig in the halls and had fed him so much useful information. There was a tight smile on his lips that conflicted with the lightness of his tone and casualness of his posture—although, now that he was under the glow of the red alarm light inside the cell instead of the flashing crimson streaks in the halls, Ludwig could see that he was tense too. His eyes flickered to the broken figure Ludwig held, and his expression strained even more.

As if sensing somebody's pity, Lukas raised his head. His dead eyes met the guard's.

 _"It's… not your fault."_ Speaking must be painful to Lukas, and exhausting too, because he turned away after those words and moved no more.

The guard's smile had completely vanished; he looked stricken instead. "I'm sorry," he said. "God, I'm so sorry."

"What are you talking about?" Feliciano demanded.

"I—," the guard seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before forcibly gathering his composure and saying, "My name is Milen Dimitrov. I—," And then he paused again, as if to swallow back everything he had decided to say to replace it with something else. "It—it doesn't matter." He shook his head, then turned back to the two infiltrators with a determined glint in his dark green eyes, enhanced by the intense red glow of their surroundings.

"Look, I'm going to help you get _him_ out of here." He gestured at Lukas, then noticing Feliciano open his mouth, quickly cut him off, "No questions, we haven't got time. It's partly my fault he managed to get into this situation in the first place, so now I'm getting him out.

"The entrance has been blocked: as you can tell from the alarms, there is an intruder. Either way, you cannot leave from there. We'll have to find another way out."

 _"Ludwig,"_ Kiku's voice suddenly crackled into his ear, interrupted by loud static, _"—hurry. Something's happening—Somebody… killing—"_

Ludwig glanced around them, at the sturdy metal walls and concrete structure beneath them. He grimaced, but there was something quietly wild in his expression. "Take him," he told Feliciano, letting Lukas slip carefully from his hold into Feliciano's waiting arms. Milen hurried forward to help support him, draping the limp body between them.

"What are you doing?"

Ludwig rolled his shoulders back, stretching his muscles. He lowered his weight, balanced himself on the balls of his feet, power coiling around his body like a bullet preparing to fire. A grim smile tilted his lips. "I'm finding a way out."

And like a determined titan charging towards an ancient wall, he collided with a jarring impact, but then the structure gave way under his ramming shoulder, crumbling easily under his monstrous strength, and Ludwig broke a hole through the Prison.

Milen, to his credit, gaped for just two seconds before aiding Feliciano in dragging Lukas out into the daylight.

Once freed from the oppressive walls of the Prison, Ludwig's ear comm. finally began to function smoothly. The wailing alarms sounded further despite the large hole in the wall, and Ludwig felt strangely light, as if they were already triumphant even though they still had to sneak around the Prison walls to rendezvous with Kiku.

 _"Somebody is slaughtering the guards."_ Kiku sounded panicked. _"Stay as far away as possible. He's dangerous."_

"Who?" Ludwig asked as the others caught up with him. He turned a questioning expression to Milen, but addressed Kiku as well, "Who is killing all the guards?"

 _"I don't—"_

"A monster," Milen uttered, and for the first time, Ludwig noticed how pale he was and that there was a trickle of cold sweat down his temple. "I didn't stay long enough to recognize him—or get killed—but I heard the screams. It—he—is something from a legend, and—dead. We all thought he was dead but—"

"Stop wasting time," Ludwig snapped. "Who is it?"

A shadow flashed across Milen's eyes. Lukas stirred, as if sensing the unspoken words. His body tensed, a breath rattling from his weak chest. His movements came in lapses: a jerk of his head, a twist of his body. Lukas's dark blue eyes stared into the crimson darkness of the Prison through the wall, as if he could see past the shadows to something glorious and terrifying and entrancing.

Milen's eyes had settled on Lukas's bloodless face, on the open, almost yearning expression. When the guard spoke, his lips barely moved, so frightened he was of the name that would pass his lips. "They called him the Viking."

A strange smile flickered across Lukas's pale lips. It was content, with a hint of knowing. His mouth moved, but no sound came out to accompany these words. But they didn't need to be uttered. Even silent, Ludwig could hear the relief, the trust, the gentle, loving caress.

 _"Mathias."_

Inside the Prison, the screams continued to echo.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


	17. Blades

**Warning: Minor swearing. Really very minor. That, and the fact that nothing really happens.**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

"I really don't think this is a good idea," Milen said anxiously. His hand clutched the cross-shaped hairpin so tightly the edges left dark imprints and a small smear of blood on his palm.

"This is _not_ a good idea," Ludwig declared. "As much as we appreciate the help Mathias Køhler offered us a year ago, I do not feel like facing him in his current state of mind is… safe," he ended rather lamely.

"Well, technically speaking, Milen is the one who has to face him, not you," Feliciano pointed out cheerfully. "In fact, if we follow Lukas's plan, the two of us would be hiding with Kiku in the car while Milen possibly gets killed trying to give Mathias a message and Lukas possibly gets killed when anybody other than Mathias discovers him waiting basically right outside the Prison entrance."

"Honestly, I don't mind," said Milen, albeit a little sarcastically. "It's not like there is anything else I can do, is there?"

"You can always _not_ do it," Ludwig suggested. "That's also an option."

Lukas spoke up immediately. "No, we have to do this." He turned to Milen. "I'm sorry for putting you in this spot; if I could go in myself, I would, but right now, even if you guys drag me in, I doubt we'd get very far. It's not like all the guards inside are dead yet."

"We can wait until they are," said Feliciano.

"I don't think so. Magyar is in there." Milen looked thoughtful, and was clearly unhappy with the way his own thoughts were going. "Most of the other guards know me, Magyar included."

"If Magyar recognized us, we'd probably be killed on the spot," muttered Ludwig.

"And she _will_ recognize you," the Prison guard said. "Magyar does not forget. Basically, I have immunity against the guards, and I've also got this." He held up Lukas's hairpin. "Hopefully I get to show this to the madman and he recognizes it before he kills me." Now, he sighed. "I'll go in."

Lukas nodded, but grimaced. He had been set down on the ground, partly obscured by a large truck parked outside the Prison, and his clumsily bandaged back erupted with pain with each miniscule movement. "Good luck."

Milen shook his head and gave a bitter chuckle. With the cross in one hand and his pistol in the other, he turned to leave. "There's no such thing as luck in Hell."

Lukas closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Milen's weary expression and retreating silhouette. "Then farewell."

The metal door slid shut with barely a click.

* * *

It was times like these when his body felt out of his mind's control—in the good way—that he truly felt alive. He knew that he could not remember much: probably ninety-three percent of everything he had experienced would slip out of his grasp soon after it had happened, but his body never forgot. Muscle memory was a wondrous thing, such a different creature he was when the thoughts left him.

There was no real thought in killing. One cannot think in the killing, because the mind interprets the world differently from the body, and sometimes, it's better to let the latter take over instead of the former. Probably if he stopped for even one second to think about what he was doing, he would throw up on the spot—and promptly get killed.

However, it remained crucial that one never forgets the presence of the mind, because Mathias knew that if he forgot the reason why he was killing his way through the Prison, it would be the end. And of course, there would only ever be one reason for the killing.

The sounds of desperate shouts and blazing guns, the scent of fear and blood hanging heavily in the halls seemed separate from him; he reveled in the sensation of blade slicing cleanly through cloth and flesh, of watching the life drain away and the spark of terror in their eyes die out.

 _Lukas._

He wondered what Lukas would think if he knew how joyfully Mathias committed murder. He felt like he knew Lukas so intimately, but could never really predict the other boy's reactions and feelings. Would he be flattered that Mathias had come so far to save him? Proud, even? Would he be disgusted and become afraid of what Mathias would do for him? If he could not find Lukas, he would never know.

A sudden silence had fallen in the corridor. The walls were splattered with blood and pockmarked with bullets. He was abruptly aware of the stillness that seemed to have encompassed his surroundings. Around him, corpses layered the floor: for one short moment, in his general vicinity, he was the only breathing animal.

"Mathias Køhler?"

A dark-haired young man in a guard uniform hovered near the door, his body tense and his round face pale, but there was a glint of determination in his shadowed eyes.

Mathias raised his hand, taking aim. A single blade through the throat should be enough to get rid of him.

"Wait!" the guard called, his voice cracking in fear. "I— _Lukas_!"

Mathias paused, confused.

The guard elaborated, "I have a message from Lukas." And then he held out his hand, something glinting in his palm. He tossed the object to Mathias, who deftly caught it.

It was Lukas's hairpin.

"Lukas is safe," he explained. "We got him out, and he's waiting for you outside."

"Why didn't he come himself?" Mathias felt vaguely disappointed underneath the relief and doubt.

"He is… unwell. But he is waiting for you. We've already got a way out of this place, just come with me; I'll bring you to him."

"How do I know you're not lying?" As much as Mathias wanted to follow the young man, he was still somewhat suspicious.

"You—," The guard broke off in the middle of his sentence, and Mathias saw his gaze flicker through him—no, _past_ him.

At the sound of a single crisp gunshot, Mathias ducked instinctively, but the bullet shot harmlessly past: it was never meant for him.

The young guard crumpled silently to the ground, joining the mass of uniformed corpses already piled up in the hall.

Mathias spun around, straightening, Lukas's hairpin clutched tightly in his hand.

She was a glorious silhouette against the metal and blood, terrifying in her beauty, death a lovely promise on her gentle smile. The gun, still smoking slightly from the single, perfectly-aimed shot, was a peculiar weapon that Mathias zoned onto immediately: a seemingly normal pistol, perhaps with a slightly longer head, with a wicked blade attached to it.

Something in Mathias's mind clicked, and a wave of agony swept abruptly through his head.

"Hello, little Viking," said Magyar, her voice a loving caress that echoed familiarly in Mathias's aching skull. "So much trouble just to see me?"

* * *

 _He had always been curious about blades._

 _One of the first things they learned in combat classes was hand-to-hand combat: weaponless, only nail, tooth, and bone against flesh, but she watched with an amused smile as he admired the wall of blades after every lesson._

 _He didn't know what exactly it was that fascinated him. A blade was deadly, but so was a bullet. They were beautiful, but beauty was too subjective in his mind for it to be a plausible reason._

 _She watched his fascination with amusement in her eyes, noting his eagerness and the way he pushed himself so that they could move on quickly onto the next unit of study: onto knives._

 _The feeling of blades in his hands—after months of empty-handed combat—was exhilarating. There was power hidden in the thin knives, and he remembered her firm and steady hand as she showed him how to harness this power, how to use it to its full potential._

 _She herself was rather like a blade, he knew even at a young age. She had the kind of beauty that made you want to keep her close, but the way her name was whispered in the halls was a sufficient warning that drove everyone away. She was lonely in that way, and it gave her beauty a cold, sharp edge._

 _She showed none of this loneliness in her demeanor, however. No matter how they whispered that she was a murdering, deceptive whore who was too violent and wild to belong in Paradise, she was—in her own way—always kind._

 _She was kind in the way she directed his blade, showed him how to cut through skin and flesh and keep a grip on your weapon even when your hands were covered in blood. She was kind in the way she taught him secretly, and her approval when he stabbed the training dummy correctly was better than chocolate, better than victory._

 _She was kind the way she was merciless, the way she never hesitated and had no pity. He left their secret training sessions with ugly bruises from merciless beatings—_ Nothing _, she said,_ compared to the pain of a blade, and if you want to learn to use blades, you must first understand pain _—but these bruises were what he built his name upon when he rose quickly to become the best._

That's all it takes, _she told him_. Understand suffering, understand pain, and you can be king.

 _He fell in love with the axe, a wicked thing that stood taller than him at the age of twelve, double-edged and ending in a sharp point on its head. He could barely hold it up. She was, of course, rather amused._

 _"Just like a foolish little Viking," she mocked not unkindly. "Taking too much you can carry back to your treasure cove."_

 _But nevertheless, she taught him to use the thing. She was kind that way. She, unlike him, was not so attracted to fancy and powerful-looking weapons. All she needed was a few pistols and knives and the reputation of her name to bring her enemies to their knees._

 _Why people were so afraid of her though, he could not really comprehend._

 _Then again, she had never turned her gun towards him until the Fall._

 _"Today, there are other things for you to learn," she had said. "But one day, even you will learn to fear my name."_

 _And truly, it took standing against her to finally understand the terror that trailed the name of Magyar._

* * *

"Just like the old times, isn't it?" Mathias could hear Magyar's voice seemingly through a layer of foam. He could see her clearly though: there was a long yet shallow scratch on her cheek that barely split the skin, and dried and new bloodstains on her clothes and knuckles. Her two pistol-knives were tucked into her belt, and the blades gleamed tauntingly in the flickering crimson Prison lighting, as if telling him that she did not need knives to make him bleed while his blades could never cut her.

As if he didn't know that already.

"It's amazing," Magyar mused, "how after so many things have happened, no matter how much our lives have changed, we still come back to the same exact point. With _you_ —," she emphasized the word with a casual stamp of her foot: she was wearing heels, and the sharp point dug into his hand. He heard a small bone crack. "—under my mercy."

 _Mercy_. Mathias wanted to laugh. Merciful as Magyar may be, she had never been truly merciful to him. Although Mathias could not exactly begrudge her for that, since her definition of mercy was a swift bullet through the brain, like the fate of that poor soldier who had tried to lead Mathias back to Lukas.

 _Lukas._

Mathias was roughly propped up against a blood-splattered wall. He had a severely sprained ankle that throbbed with the most miniscule movements, and he had several badly bruised ribs that made breathing a painful business. His hand with the broken fingers and bones were thrown casually to the side, disregarded as Magyar shattered his hand with careful precision. He clutched Lukas's silver cross in his good hand, held it close to his chest as if it could speak to him if it was close enough to his heart.

Despite his broken hand though, Mathias was not in a very terrible shape, considering that he was facing Magyar, whose definition of mercilessness did not allow anyone to leave her presence in one piece.

"What is that?" Magyar noticed the hairpin in Mathias's hand. She crouched down, prying apart his fingers to observe the delicate cross in his palm. She did not take it, and Mathias quickly closed his hand around it once more before she could realize that all she needed to do was break that hairpin and she would shatter him.

"It's beautiful," said Magyar. It was a strange thing to say considering the circumstances, but Mathias decided not to point that out. "Did you know that it once belonged to the Magician of the North?"

"It's Lukas's," argued Mathias. His voice sounded brittle and distant in his own ears. "He's not a magician."

"No, he certainly is not." At least that was one thing they could agree on. "Is he important to you?"

Anybody with half of brain would know not to answer that question. This was the question whose answer gave your enemy everything they needed. Nobody would answer that question, especially when Magyar went to such little lengths to sneak it onto him or pry it from him in a more discreet manner. It was a stupid question, and Mathias opened his mouth to tell Magyar what exactly she should do with that question.

"He is everything to me."

Magyar smiled. "I know."

She straightened and patted Mathias's head rather endearingly. "Thank you, my little Viking. That was all I needed to hear."

"Oh God," Mathias groaned quietly, nearly whimpering when he realized what he had just said. It was moments like these when killing himself seemed very, _very_ appealing. " _Fuck me_."

Magyar laughed. "I'd really rather not. I'm engaged, after all."

"Fuck you," Mathias muttered, but Magyar gave no indication of whether she had heard him. She was already strolling away, past the mine of corpses, her heels clicking crisply on the tiled floor, leaving Mathias drenched in bloody light and a silvery cross in his hand.

* * *

"We meet again."

Lukas could hear the smile in her voice. He felt paralyzed—with fear, terror, anger even. She had just strolled out of the Prison doors as if a massacre was not happening inside, blood—old and fresh—staining her formal white shirt and black skirt. She wore white heels, one of the ends stained dark as if she had stabbed someone with that heel. Maybe she did: you never knew with Magyar.

Somehow, he managed to say, "Unfortunately."

Magyar made a small, nonchalant sound. "Are you waiting for Mathias?"

Lukas gave a little jolt at the sound of that name. She spoke it with a strange tender twist of her lips, the way you would speak the name of a close friend whom you had not seen in many years.

"I saw him back in there," she gestured at the imposing structure of the Prison rising behind Lukas. "He got your message, but I don't think he's in good enough shape to come find you."

It felt like another bucket of ice water was dumped over his head, following the initial shock of seeing Magyar and being greeted so cordially by his tormentor.

"What," he spoke through gritted teeth, "did you do to him?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you were wondering." Magyar sounded almost offended. "Although he might not be in a very good state of mind, since he probably thinks that I'm coming to kill you."

"You mean you're _not_ here to kill me?" Lukas said, sarcastically incredulous.

"All in due time," she answered loftily. "It might not be today, but one day, Mathias Køhler will lose everything—again. In the end, he would know that he had not been able to protect anything: not then, not now, not ever. He came to save you, you know." Magyar's lips quirked into a rueful smile, "But you might need to go find him instead."

Lukas pursed his lips. The vicious cuts on his back had barely scabbed over under their flimsy bandages. It was as if Magyar was mocking him, telling him to go look for his 'savior'.

Even so, Lukas clenched his teeth and braced his hands on the ground, his legs folding beneath him to stand—

"Not so fast." Magyar stepped forward and leaned in close. Her smile was the sharp edge of a cold blade, and there was something solemn and condemning about the way she spoke. "Recently, it's all about messages, isn't it? Everyone sending fragments of information so that in the end, no one really knows what is going on. You sent your message to your beloved Viking—," contrary to the way she had spoken 'Mathias', her lips twisted disgustingly at the word 'Viking', as if it was a hard and bitter thing between her teeth, "—here is my message for you."

"Make it quick." Lukas forced himself onto his feet, but black spots exploded momentarily in his vision, making him sway. He leaned on one shoulder against the cold concrete wall of the Prison as he tried to shake off the dizziness that followed blood loss and exhaustion. He looked up to see Magyar watching him struggle with a peculiar expression, as if she was tempted to help but was held back by some invisible force—probably her reputation of being a murderous bitch. "Well?"

Her face was quickly wiped blank, but a shadow coiled itself in her deep green eyes. "Emil Steilsson will die."

Silence. Lukas could not find the proper words or reaction. It was difficult to breathe, because he could not tell if Magyar was lying, and if she wasn't, he would actually be ruined—and Magyar knew it.

"How?" The word forced its way past his numb lips, barely a whisper yet laden with terror.

Elizabeta Héderváry, as if smelling his fear, smiled.

* * *

 **Is the plot going too slowly? Why do I feel like literally nothing is happening every chapter? Should I start merging chapters from now on so that there will be longer chapters but less frequent updates (not that I'm updating very frequently in the first place, but you know, even less frequently)? Are things getting boring? Each time I write a chapter I look at the planning and tell myself that the fun starts the next chapter, but when I start writing the next chapter, I realize that the fun is actually in the chapter after that, so honestly, I'm really confused by my own story.**

 **Thus, for the sake of the sanity of your author, please Review!**


	18. Hands Off

**Wait whaat? Did I just update within a month? I don't know though, it's a pretty short chapter this time. The good thing is, something does happen!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Mathias could not stand the feeling of hopelessness. He did not like staying still, did not like being helpless and motionless and useless. There were only a few times in his life when nothing he had done would make any difference, and it always ended in him losing everything. When he had fought back, however, there was always something he could gain, something for him to conquer, to kill, to save.

Of course, the first time he had actually killed someone was during the Fall, but the first time he felt a hint of death on his hands was when he was eight.

The other boy deserved it though. Sometimes Mathias still thought that he should have stabbed down harder and just killed the other boy.

But killing was never okay, it was never the solution, although more often than not, it brought good fortune of some kind.

Even now, as he rested beside piles of corpses, cold blood soaking into his skin, he could not feel remorse for the killing. It was difficult to be ashamed of something that had provided your every need.

"Mathias."

Lukas stood in the doorway, taking in the bloodshed in the Prison. The crimson emergency lights casted grotesque shadows on the walls, staining the blood black and hiding the corpses. He noticed, however, Milen, a lonely, broken figure sprawled in the middle of the hall, a single clean hole in his forehead. Lukas felt a pang of regret, but then he spotted Mathias.

Mathias had always stood out somehow. In a crowd, whether it was his towering height—enhanced by his sweeping hairstyle—or his loud voice and goofy grin, he was always immediately noticeable. There was simply something about Mathias that never seemed to quite belong.

But now, amongst the rows of dead, Mathias seemed to have melted into the background. It didn't seem right that somebody who was always so lively would fit in so perfectly with the dead, but it took Lukas some effort to find Mathias, and for one moment, he thought that he was actually dead.

But then Mathias stirred, and called in a weary voice, "Lukas?"

"I'm here." Lukas made his way carefully towards the shadow leaning against the wall. Each step took all his will, and it left him panting and dizzy, his legs feeling like they were about to buckle any moment. At one point he nearly tripped, and one of the cuts on his back reopened, blood soaking into the bandages and sending spikes of pain down his spine.

Except Mathias looked worse. Ugly bruises were forming, a revolting purplish shade in the red lighting, and there were several small cuts that had scabbed over but left little patches of dried blood on his face; he had a split lip, and one eye was already swelling shut. His left hand was thrown out to one side, and Lukas could see that it had been crushed and broken into an unrecognizable lump of bloody flesh. Remembering the blood on Magyar's heel, Lukas felt bile rising in his throat, but quickly forced it down before he hurled all over Mathias.

"I got your hairpin." Mathias offered it to him, and Lukas carefully clipped it back in place.

"Are you okay?" _What a stupid question_ , he admonished himself. _Of course he's not okay._

"I'm fine." But Mathias was stubborn as well, and Lukas knew that if he said that he was fine, then he was going to act fine until he was too broken to do so.

"No, you're not." Lukas gave him a sharp look, which Mathias defiantly returned with one and a half eyes.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I—"

" _I_ ," Lukas interrupted, "am not having this conversation with you right now."

"Why not?" whined Mathias. "We haven't had this conversation in such a long time!"

"Not true."

"True."

"Not true."

"True."

"Not true—you wouldn't remember it either way."

Mathias had the decency to pout. "Who said that?"

Lukas wanted to cross his arms, but knew that that would just stretch his wounds more, so settled with an incredulous glare. " _You_ said that. Last month."

The amnesiac frowned. "I don't remember that."

Lukas rolled his eyes. "You don't remember anything." Gingerly, he sat down opposite to Mathias—more like fell to his knees and tried not to jostle himself anymore than necessary.

"That's not true either."

Lukas was about to retort, but Mathias's expression made him pause.

"I remember things, Lukas." Mathias spoke so matter-of-factly Lukas almost believed him. But when he shook his head slightly, Mathias insisted, "I _remember_ , Lukas. _I am remembering_."

Lukas paused. "What do you mean 'you are _remembering_ '?"

"Come," he said instead, patting the empty space next to him. "Come sit next to me."

Carefully, Lukas scooted next to Mathias and landed heavily on his bottom. He did not relax against the wall, but braced his hands on his knees and sat stiffly there.

"I don't remember things," said Mathias, "but doesn't mean I don't remember anything at all. After all, nobody remembers _everything_."

Lukas nodded slowly. This Mathias was strange to him. He had never seen Mathias so grounded and real. "Then what do you remember?"

"I remember…" Mathias closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. "I remember the New World. I remember that day you got mad at me because I tried to cook eggs and nearly made the kitchen explode. And… that time while we were watching 'Sleeping Beauty' and you said that it was disgusting to kiss someone you've never met before, but I remember that the first time I met you, I wanted to kiss you." He opened his eyes, and they were strangely bright and clear when they turned to Lukas, who was praying that the red lighting would cover up his blush. "I remember when you told me that true sadness was not the urge to cry, but an emptiness that seems to swallow you whole. I remember _you_ , Lukas. I don't remember anything else but you. I don't _want_ to remember anything else but you."

Lukas thought that he was enraptured. He stared into Mathias's dark eyes, felt like he was falling into those deep, star-filled orbs. He could see the world in his eyes, a world he had never seen before, a world that was either Heaven or Hell, and when Mathias kissed him he thought he could feel hellfire searing through his blood but there was the sweet nectar of paradise on his lips and bliss on the tip of his tongue. He felt like he was falling, but falling into the sky, past the clouds and through those layers of thin air, into breathlessness, nothingness, a vacuum filled with the unknown beauties of another world.

They broke apart with a pained gasp. Lukas had leaned too far forward, stretching his wounds, and he had forgotten about Mathias's split lip, which the other boy was now licking testily at, frowning unhappily all the while.

"Eh." Mathias shrugged as Lukas threw his head back, and for the first time in a long, long time, he laughed. He felt like he was entering a high that pushed back his pain. It pushed away everything, scattered every thought save for Mathias.

"Lukas," Mathias whispered, a beckoning call, and their lips crashed violently: desperate, ravaging beasts craving for a drug only the other had.

Mathias cupped his good hand behind Lukas's head and Lukas in turn wrapped his arms around the other boy's neck. They were crushed together, pressed so tightly against each other that it was difficult to imagine being apart.

"Mathias," Lukas murmured against his lips, "What is the New World?"

Mathias pulled the other onto his lap so that they were now completely intertwined, tangled in the invisible threads that tied them together.

"This," he whispered, "This is the New World."

Lukas shuddered against him, and they deepened the kiss. He felt Mathias's cool hand venture up his shirt, cold fingers brushing over his hot skin and lingering on the edges of his bandages. Mathias nipped on his lip, making him yelp, then began to trail burning kisses from the tip of his mouth, across his jawline and down his neck. Lukas moaned, feeling like he melting, arching his body when Mathias bit down on the spot where the neck met his shoulders.

Mathias seemed determined to explore every inch of Lukas's body. His hands were wandering again, this time downwards, gripping his hips as they pressed even more tightly together. His thumbs hooked over the waistband of his jeans, and Lukas was suddenly jerked back into reality.

"Wait—," he gasped, but broke off when he felt Mathias's hand slip _under_. Want was an aching throb pulsing through his body, but he forced himself to say, "Mathias, we can't do this."

"Why not?" Mathias mumbled distractedly, still nuzzling his neck.

"We're— _oh God_ ," Lukas moaned, then wriggled around a bit to attempt to dislodge Mathias. "There are people waiting for us outside. We can't have—we can't _do_ that in the middle of a hallway filled with dead people." He gestured around them for emphasis.

"Why not?" Mathias seemed genuinely puzzled this time.

"Because…" Lukas struggled off Mathias's lap, stumbling awkwardly to his feet. "We just _can't_ , okay? I don't want to do this. Not _here_ , at least."

Mathias, following Lukas, clambered wobblingly to his feet. He was grinning widely, his split lip seemingly to have nearly disappeared, and the other bruises and cuts appeared to have faded somewhat as well.

"There are people waiting for us?"

"Yes, the people who got me out."

"Who are they?" Mathias slung an arm over his shoulder, then drew back quickly when the Lukas hissed and twisted in pain.

"They are—Mathias! Your hand!" It was true that the lighting wasn't all that great, but Lukas had been relatively certain that _that hand_ had been _crushed_ into a bloody pulp.

And yet there it was, clearly not unscathed but obviously functioning as Mathias flexed his fingers experimentally.

"A little stiff," he declared. He noticed Lukas staring at him, bewildered, and added a bit defensively, "What? I heal fast."

Lukas shook his head. "Nobody heals _that_ fast."

And now that he mentioned it, that swollen eye was already gone, and most of the bruises on his face were nearly unnoticeable. How did this happen? When? This wasn't the first time he had seen Mathias injured, except—he realized suddenly—never had Mathias's injuries been so obvious. They had always been somewhere that could be hidden under a sleeve and forgotten; they had never been so out in the open until now.

And almost before his eyes, the cuts continued to fade into angry red lines, and dead skin began to flake from Mathias's healing hand.

"How—?" Lukas was stunned. "Had it always been like this?"

Mathias shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know."

"Do they leave scars?"

"I don't know." Mathias examined his hand. "Maybe a bit."

"Can you…" Lukas hesitated. "Can you heal other people?"

"I don't know," repeated Mathias. "I've never tried."

Almost as if understanding the conversation, the pain from his unhealed cuts seemed to flare up suddenly.

"Can you, though?" Lukas insisted, feeling incredibly selfish. "Try, I mean?"

"I—," Mathias faltered. He looked confused, and was searching Lukas's face, hearing the hunger but finding no signs of it. "Are you okay?"

This time it was Lukas's turn to stumble. It was such a simple question, yet something so unlike Mathias to ask

 _No, I've never felt so much pain in my life. I've never felt so broken, not even when I saw my parents' throats slit and their murderer standing over them. Heal me, Mathias,_ he wanted to beg. _Heal me._

"Yes. Yes, I'm okay."

Mathias beamed. "Should we go?" He sounded as if the conversation just now had not happened. Who knew—maybe it didn't. Maybe Lukas had overexerted himself enough that he had started hallucinating.

Dazedly, he nodded, and allowed himself to be led towards the exit by Mathias.

The door slammed open quite suddenly, making both of them jump. At the doorway stood Feliciano, wide-eyed and panicked.

"Lukas!" He sagged with relief, then promptly burst into tears. "I'm sorry! I wasn't paying attention! We were waiting and waiting in the car, then we hid when we saw Magyar come out, and then when she was gone we went to check on you and you disappeared!"

"I—"

"You were supposed to stay there," Feliciano continued to wail, stomping his foot in agitation. "Milen was supposed to fetch Mathias and— _oh mio Dio, lui è morto_."

Lukas did not understand Italian, but he could guess what Feliciano just said, judging by how he was now staring, horrified, at Milen's body. "Feliciano, it was an accident."

"Calm down," Mathias suggested.

Feliciano spun towards him, and jabbed a finger at his face and nearing stabbing Mathias in the eye. "Did you kill him?" he demanded.

"No?" Mathias did not seem to understand who exactly Feliciano was referring to, but the Italian did not notice. He had already turned his attention onto Lukas.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. He had practically carried Lukas out of the Prison after all, and was clearly doubting that Lukas was managing to stand without too much support.

"Yes," answered Lukas.

"You look a bit pale. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Lukas repeated firmly, wondering how many more lies he would have to tell today.

* * *

 _In its own way, Paradizo was extremely old-fashioned._

 _Created and based in Europe, it had rapidly spread east into Asia and south into Africa. Although in the end, Paradizo's quest into Africa ended in Egypt, it managed to stretch itself far into the East, digging fingers into most Asian countries, even some that were in the middle of a civil war—Paradizo was created for orphans anyways, and where better to find orphans than in a war?_

 _Perhaps that was what made it ironic when the Fall happened. The civil war that had dragged heaven into hell was sparked by the very orphans Paradizo had worked so hard to help. Of course, some of these orphans had also fought very hard to protect Paradizo, but it was so easy to sin._

 _It was so easy to fall._

 _Strangely enough, Paradizo had never really reached into the Americas. The first contact the United States had with Paradizo was when—allegedly—the Magician of the North had quit the organization and moved there with her husband and children. No one was certain of this though, especially since most people did not even believe that the Magician of the North even existed. She was a myth, a simple story to scare children._

 _But Mathias knew that she was real. He had met her once, in a distance from the orphanage, as she talked to her father about something. There had been a very small child settled in her arms, and it had hid its face in her light hair, little hands fisted tightly in its mother's shirt. All Mathias had been able to see of it was a blue T-shirt and a head of pale-golden curls._

 _She exchanged a few words with her father, glanced in Mathias's direction, and left, the child still hidden against her._

 _Of course, he didn't know who she was then, but had learned soon enough. Even so, he never saw her again, even as her stories continued to intrigue him. She was the best of the best, after all, and Mathias wanted to be the best. He had dreamed that he would meet her again, and maybe ask for advice, but she had disappeared, the last hint of her trail in America. That was what made him so intrigued by the land across the sea, the land of possibilities and opportunities, the land untouched by Heaven._

 _Paradizo, in its old-fashioned way, had its own name for that land: the New World._

 _The rumor going around hell was that the Magician of the North—if she had even existed in the first place—was dead, that China himself had killed her. Her entire family had been slaughtered with her, their bodies left for Paradizo to find like a declaration of war._

 _Mathias remembered the golden-haired child clutching its mother like a lifeline. In another universe, maybe the Magician of the North would have come into the orphanage with her father and visited the children, allowed her own child to leave her grasp to play with others its age._

 _But in this world, they were all dead. The sky had fallen, and it—Mathias didn't even know if the child had been a girl or a boy—was just another tragedy of war, another ghost that would echo unendingly in Mathias's life._

 _Though in Hell, it was not so difficult to meet a ghost._

* * *

 **Well, a very little something happened, but something nonetheless.**

 **Thanks for reading, and please Review!**


	19. Take my King, Take your Queen

**Ahahaha it's been over six months i seriously suck.**

 **Major events so far: Mathias got kidnapped by Magyar. Lukas tried to go save him, but got captured instead, while Mathias got saved by other people. Then Mathias went back to save Lukas. Lots of meaningless back and forth. Awkward DenNor scene.**

 **Warnings: chaotic, because this story confuses me. Crappy chapter, because I basically wrote one word a day so this chapter was just kind of all over the place.**

 **Still though, pretty important chapter. It's the beginning of the end.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

It was a day of many tears, even though to be honest, they did not have the time for it.

"Lovino…" Feliciano sobbed, clutching his brother like a lifeline and choking around his tears with broken lines of Italian.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you. Get away from me. Fuck you…" Lovino was no different, although Lukas was not sure how healthy his method of expressing love was.

In the margins, watching this heartfelt display were Gilbert and Emma, both dabbing at their eyes and sniffling.

"What a beautiful scene…" Emma sighed, and Nathan, sitting beside his sister, rolled his eyes as Gilbert blew his nose loudly.

"Wow," Mathias was saying to Ludwig and Kiku, "Thanks for helping us and everything, but I still don't remember you!"

"Tragic," Tim commented, and Alfred laughed obnoxiously, Matthew—just as forgotten as Ludwig and Kiku, only by the entirety of the crowd in the room—hovering nearby.

"Well," said Emil from where he was perched next to Lukas at the corner of the room. "It's very… busy today."

Indeed, Lukas couldn't help but feel that there were a bit too many people in one living room. He doubted this apartment had ever seen such a party, since in the recent years it was apparently constantly passed back and forth amongst people secretly working against the Underworld and unwilling to let one of the major UDW bases in the United States to be left unsupervised.

As the rest of the group chattered on, Lukas felt weariness creep up to him, and he lowered himself carefully into the nearby armchair. He had been carefully treated by Emma, but a slight pain still racked his body every time he decided to move. He felt burdened, not just from the pain, but also with knowledge. Knowledge that the jolly atmosphere in the room was a false and weak cover for the tension that had settled into their very souls, and also the knowledge that—

 _"Emil Steilsson will die."_

Those four words shook him to the core, and when Emil turned a concerned expression to the older brother, Lukas could feel the weight of this knowledge increase.

"If you need some rest—," Emil started, but Lukas swiftly cut in.

"I'm fine."

"Lukas Bondevik…" Gilbert waltzed across the living room towards the two brothers. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, likely stolen from the fridge, and a razor sharp smile accompanied with a glint in his dark red eyes that made him look either mischievous or murderous. Regardless, it was a look that meant that he was up to no good, and Lukas wasn't sure how ready he was to deal with a personality such as Gilbert. "My good friend, Lukas… I heard you had an encounter with the infamous Magyar? How does she fare, if I may ask?"

At the sound of that name, Lukas stiffened, and his hand fisting unconsciously against the leather of the armchair.

"Wonderfully," he replied somewhat coldly.

If Gilbert caught onto Lukas's tone, he didn't show it, though he glimpsed at the bandages peeking out from Lukas's collar. "That's nice to hear. Haven't seen the girl since the civil war."

"The Civil War?"

"Not the American Civil War, dumbass." Gilbert paused to take a gulp of beer. "The civil war of Hell."

"Speaking of civil wars," Nathan popped out of nowhere, cutting into the conversation with no context, thus steering their topic into a strange place, "It's a bit worrying, isn't it? The generals of both sides have shown their hands, they've clashed and killed. It's the Viking against Magyar again, and the Viking's got even less of a chance to win than last time."

"Hold up," said Emma, "The war was never between the Viking and _Magyar_. It had always been between the Viking and _China_."

Emil was startled by her sudden appearance, and as the conversation grew, his eyes darted from one speaker to the next.

"China?" Lukas repeated incredulously. Was the Chinese government somehow involved with the Underworld?

"Not the _country_ China," Nathan informed him. "A _person_ called China."

"Obviously, it's not his real name," added Emma. "It's just like 'Magyar', or the 'Prussian', or the 'Magician of the North'."

"But even so, no one ever actually _saw_ China, so it's still basically the Viking verses Magyar."

"Magyar _works_ for China."

"I don't think so." Nathan shook his head. "Magyar doesn't strike me as the type of take orders."

"I have to say, I have to agree with the kid on this one." Gilbert tipped his bottle of beer in Nathan's direction. "Although I'm still pretty sure that Magyar is working for China."

"No one has ever even _seen_ China," Nathan emphasized.

"That's what makes him so dangerous." All five of them jumped. Kiku stood behind Emil, a soft smile on his lips that contrasted starkly with the grim look in his eyes. In all the time Lukas had known him, Kiku had always been frail—a side effect from his time in the labs—and the young man looked exhausted from just standing there. If Lukas wasn't in so much pain, he would have given him his seat.

"China is a phantom," said Kiku, his voice quiet but steely. "No one sees him, and yet he sees everything. His name is not whispered the way Magyar's is, and yet his net is cast wide, and he hears every word. Magyar is fearsome, yes, but fear what you cannot see. Though it's not true that no one has ever seen him before." This smile that tugged at Kiku's lips was almost joking. "He is still a man, after all. I'm sure Magyar had seen him before at some point."

Nathan took this all in with a thoughtful expression, and then asked, "What if China is actually a woman?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Nathan."

Kiku chuckled and shook his head. "China is definitely a man, though people have been mistaken before. I've seen him too."

Silence fell. Gilbert, Emma, and Nathan were all staring at Kiku with wide eyes and slack jaws. Their mouths moved, but none of them seemed capable of forming words, and so the silence dragged, with three of Kiku's audience awestruck and the other two confused.

"Wow," Emil finally broke the silence with a very sarcastic exclamation. "I'm sure if I had any idea what you were all talking about, I would be impressed as well."

"Oh right." The rest of the group were abruptly reminded of the two outsiders in their midst. The four exchanged looks, urging each other to go ahead and explain. Ultimately, Kiku lost the four-way staring contest, and with a sigh, he began, "It's a somewhat long and complicated story, so here's a watered-down version: the Underworld started off as a charity program for orphans called Paradizo. Paradizo collected talented orphans from all over the world, training and educating them. Almost everyone in this room was part of that charity program. There were a lot of us, and maybe…"

"It was too much," said Emma sadly. "Too much talent, too much power."

"China was part of the program too, but he was ambitious," continued Kiku. "Long story short, he tried to get more power in Paradizo, but all that caused was a rift, a civil war, and many dead children.

"The sides of the civil war—as Nathan mentioned earlier—were basically the Viking against China. The Viking lost, he was executed, and what was left of Paradizo became the Underworld. That was three years ago."

"But…" Emil's gaze drifted towards another, more boisterous crowd across the room, "Isn't the Viking Mathias?"

Kiku shrugged. "I've never actually met the Viking, so I don't know. It is possible that Mathias is the Viking, though I believe most of the people who can confirm that fact has been hunted down and killed."

Lukas also felt his eyes draw towards Mathias, laughing and chatting loudly beside Alfred and his copilot, expression somewhat lost as he forgot pieces of the conversation, but still clearly enjoying himself. He tried to imagine Mathias in war, a child and a soldier, leading an army of children his age against a faceless foe. He failed.

"What about China? So he's basically the CEO of the Underworld now?"

Kiku was amused. "I guess you can say that."

"I don't think so," Gilbert interrupted however. "Magyar is more like the CEO of the Underworld. She's the one who goes to the fancy meetings and does all the hard work. China is the owner of the company who leaves the work to the others and watches from a distance. That's why no one sees him."

His explanation made sense; Nathan and Emma were humming and nodding along in agreement by the end.

"That," Gilbert stuck a finger in Kiku's direction, making his point in an almost accusing voice, "is why the fact that you've met China is somewhat unbelievable."

"Do you know what he's doing now?" inquired Nathan.

Kiku shook his head. "I met him years ago, before the end of the war."

"Oh," the young boy looked disappointed, as if it was no longer so impressive since it was before the end of the civil war.

"But honestly…" Lukas spoke for the first time since Kiku joined the conversation. His eyes were still trained on a distant figure across the room, and he seemed a bit disoriented. "How much power can you get from Paradizo? No one has really heard of this organization, and wouldn't a civil war just make it weaker?"

Gilbert was the one to answer with a shrug. "No one knows what China was thinking when he killed the original founders of Paradizo and declared himself supreme dictator. He probably just wanted power."

But Kiku's lips pursed, and Lukas knew that there was something unspoken here, a secret that was yet still painful to reveal. He was curious, and if he was any more cruel—perhaps as cruel as Magyar—he would have tried to dig it out of the Asian. But Lukas was not Magyar, and Lukas was too weary of cruelty, and so he let it slide.

"And now he's gone and disappeared." Lukas leaned forward, feeling his bandages chaff over his wounds. "Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of destroying Paradizo and replacing it with the Underworld?"

"Maybe he decided to retire," suggested Emma.

"Maybe." Though unlikely. "Regardless, he's not our biggest problem right now, is he? If no one has seen or heard from him in years, I'm not bothering to worry myself over him either. Right now, our biggest problem is Magyar, so let's deal with her first."

Gilbert snorted. "You make it sound like we can just walk up to her and put a bullet in her head."

Well, now that Gilbert put it that way, it did sound a little ridiculous. None of them could speak a single word to that woman without being merciless trampled like indignantly helpless ants, and so saying _'let's deal with her'_ sounds like an absurd understatement. You don't _'deal with'_ a person like Magyar. You lay down your plans and hope for the best; no point in praying though, because according to Gilbert, she had bribed the gods and fate into submission.

So yes, they needed a plan. If they were going to deal with Magyar, it got to be a good plan. If the legends were to be believed, she could take on the whole world by herself, and survive. It was a good thing she had no ambition to become queen of the universe; if anyone faced her head-on, no one would survive.

Except—why the hell not?

Lukas could feel something taking shape in his mind. Yes, Magyar had incredible power, and there were more things that Lukas could imagine that she could use to destroy each and every one of them, but he had something too, something vital, and now it simply boiled down to who will destroy each other first.

"Alfred," Lukas called, interrupting the increasingly animated conversation occurring on the other side of the living room. The smaller chatters around and between the two of them unconsciously lowered the volume so that communication was actually possible without one of them having to venture all the way across the room. "Does Magyar know that you are helping us yet?"

With the single mention of _'Magyar'_ , all conversations stuttered to a halt, and the room fell into tense silence.

Alfred blinked, caught unawares by the question. "Um. No, no, I don't think so."

 _That's fortunate._ "Do you know where Magyar is right now?"

"I'm… pretty sure she's still in California." Alfred nudged a faint shadow by his side. "Right, Mattie?"

Lukas noticed the copilot—not for the first time, though it certainly felt like it—with a start, and had to blink a few times before the man seemed to completely materialize.

"Yes," said Matthew, his voice barely audible. "She told us to go pick her up in two or three days."

"Yup." Alfred sighed, and said with a hint of a whine, "We're practically her personally pilots now. It's super annoying; she is real shitty company on a plane."

"Alfred," Matthew chided softly, and was ignored.

"Might be the fact that she is _Magyar_ ," Lovino pointed out. "What did you honestly expect?" The Italian turned to Lukas, and he was suddenly conscious that this was his first real interaction with Feliciano's allegedly dead older brother.

"Speaking of which," said the elder Vargas, "You are another one of those idiotic shitheads that blew up the Australian lab?"

Lukas did not appreciate being called an _'idiotic shithead'_ , but from what he had seen from Lovino so far, that was simply the way he talked. "Yes, I am."

"Well," announced Lovino to the whole room, "You're an idiot."

"Thank you," Lukas replied coolly.

"But you've got something up your sleeve." He smiled, and Lukas marveled at just how different he was from his soft, bubbly, cheerful brother. Lovino Vargas was sharp edges and blunts words, towering walls casting shadows across his very being; his character seemed obvious the moment you heard him talk, yet he was unfathomable. "You are an idiot, but I am not. You think you've found a way to fight Magyar?"

No, Lovino was most certainly not an idiot. Once again, Lukas wondered: both Feliciano and Lovino were at the Australian labs, one (supposedly) died in an experiment, the other was fundamentally changed by one. If Lovino had a special ability like his brother, he probably had some handicap as well—though so far, Lukas could gleam nothing from him.

Carefully, Lukas rose to his feet. He was exhausted, but the attention of the entire room was on him at the moment, and this was not the time to be dragged down by exhaustion.

"I know Magyar," he began slowly. "I've met her, seen her face, and I know who she is. Of course, I am sure that many of you here have met her as well, but I know something that may or may not help us—if we use it correctly.

"Magyar's real identity—I don't know if it is her real name, but it is the name I know her by—is Elizabeta Héderváry." Lukas heard a sharp intake of breath from his young brother. "She has a fiancé."

Silence. Silence as everyone processed that. Silence as everyone almost simultaneously realized what they had to do, the only thing they could do.

Emil cleared his throat. "She is—was—my homeroom teacher. _That is so weird_ ," he added under his breath, and Lukas released a little huff of amusement. "When our class found out she was engaged, we pestered her about it, and—if I remember correctly—her fiancé's name is Roderich Edelstein."

The silence had yet to break. It hovered in the air, quivering, building—and then it crashed down around them as Gilbert threw back his head and laughed.

"To think," he cackled in his characteristic laughter, "I once had sex with that woman!"

"That," Ludwig threw his hands up in exasperated embarrassment, even as Alfred and Mathias wolf-whistled, "is _completely_ irrelevant!"

* * *

Flawed and strange though their team was, one cannot criticize them for not being efficient. It took all of six hours for them to track down Roderich Edelstein and dig up all the information they could on the man. By the time Lukas and Emil left the apartment to return to their own, long-neglected home, they can very nearly memorize Edelstein's daily schedule and were holding a folder filled with basic information on Magyar's fiancé.

Lukas had almost forgotten where he had hidden the spare key, and when they entered, the house was foreign. If home was where the heart was, he thought that this little apartment that he had miraculously obtained was as far from home as he could be.

"Mathias should be here," Emil murmured.

Lukas silently agreed. There was a layer of dust over everything, but maybe if Mathias was here, this would feel more like home. He didn't know if it was pathetic or touching or strange, but in the months that Mathias had stayed with them, he became what had defined _home_. When they walked back from school, they were not walking back to a tiny, somewhat unkempt apartment, but to Mathias. When Mathias disappeared, they turned their back on this place without hesitation, because somehow Mathias was now home and there was no point in staying if home wasn't where home should be.

But Mathias had opted to stay in the 'Base'. Gilbert was not exactly pleased that his former home had become a hub for them Underworld refugees, but then—as Emma pointed out—it technically wasn't his apartment anymore, and the three siblings that had taken over were more than happy to regulate the Base.

"You can't just kick us out like this!" Gilbert had protested.

"You're the one who got yourself kicked out when you got yourself arrested by the Underworld and forced your two friends to go into hiding."

"Ouch," Alfred mouthed to Matthew, who chuckled sympathetically.

And now here they were, at the home-that-was-not-home. It felt like they were trespassing on foreign ground.

"Let's rest," Lukas said. "We'll see them tomorrow."

Emil nodded, and disappeared into his room. Lukas could hear him drawing the blinds close and sneezing when dust erupted in his face.

Lukas entered his own musty room, closing the door gently behind him. A silence as dead and heavy as the stale air settled over him, and he nearly collapsed on his bed, ignoring the dust that puffed up in response.

He had thought that silence would be bliss, especially when he had spent so much time with the chaotic crowd at the Base. It was only now, in the solitude of his room, did he realize how _awful_ silence was, because silence meant that for the first time since he kissed Mathias in California, he could think.

Think about the kiss. The burning touches.

Think about before the kiss. The knives. The sound of his brother's name spoken almost lovingly by a cruel voice.

He checked his phone, which was on the verge of dying despite him having charged it on the plane. No new messages. Or at least, none that were unwelcomed.

None that marked the end of the countdown.

* * *

Roderich Edelstein was not a complete fool. He may have grown up in a privileged family, but that did not make him naïve to the dark side of the world. He knew that Elizabeta was not merely a middle school teacher—even with the many recent school shootings, normal teachers did not keep a gun in every purse—and the fact that she had gone to California for unknown reasons for an indefinite period of time was really starting to rub at him the wrong way.

Though admittedly, some of her behaviors did not just rub _at_ him the wrong way, it also seemed to have rubbed off _on_ him.

In the past, he would have thought that his newly-found paranoia was cancerous, but in the past two days, it was probably the only thing that had prevented him from getting murdered in his bed. There were people following him, trailing him, watching him, and if he hadn't picked up on Elizabeta's paranoid ways, he would likely have never noticed.

Still, didn't mean that he _enjoyed_ being paranoid.

And sometimes, paranoia did not mean that he was preventing something from happening to him, only that he was delaying it.

And if he had to be completely honest, Roderich Edelstein—careful, courteous Roderich Edelstein—was just a bit curious.

After all, the worse thing that could come out of this situation was a slow and painful death.

* * *

His days were numbered, but no one knew. No one will know until the final day came—even though he himself didn't know exactly when this countdown will end. All he knew was that the end will come with a message.

The message came the next day.

 _Too soon_ , he thought, but there was nothing he could do about it. He no longer had any control over his own life. All he can do now is make sure that he was as unimportant as he could be. After all, they were on the verge of war, and he refused to be a hindrance.

Just because he was already condemned did not mean that they could not win this battle. One dead soldier was hardly a nuisance to a gathering army.

* * *

"I don't want the two of them involved," said Vash, pointing at Emil and Lukas the day before the kidnapping as they were planning the abduction. He had disappeared with Lilli after Mathias went to retrieve Lukas from California, and now he was back, along with his sister, apparently after finding their own apartment. "He's too young and he's injured."

Emil looked like he was about to protest, but one look at his brother's weary face, he closed his mouth. No one else spoke.

"Magyar is still in California," said the former Prison guard. "If this information is accurate, he seems like a perfectly normal guy. Just use the standard kidnapping procedure; should be easy."

And it was.

The fact that they had a 'standard kidnapping procedure' was admittedly a little sad, but it didn't change the fact that it worked perfectly. The reason why it was standard was because it should encounter no big problems during the kidnapping.

And this was the exact case for Roderich Edelstein. The kidnapping was so standard it was almost _boring_.

They infiltrated the man's home, raided his fridge, waited, then got ready when they received the signal indicating that their target was approaching. The most exciting thing that happened was the moment Edelstein stepped into his house, he had sighed and said, "Whatever you need to do, please finish it quickly. I have work tomorrow."

Vash materialized behind Edelstein and kicked the door shut. Gilbert stepped out of his hiding place, a piece of cloth in one hand.

The albino grinned. "Sorry, sir, you might not be able to make it tomorrow."

Edelstein sighed. "Very well. I suppose I can call in sick." Then he eyed the rag in Gilbert's hand with mild interest. "Is that soaked in chloroform?"

"Yes." Gilbert blinked, somewhat bewildered, then caught his mistake. "I mean—no. No, just a hankie."

"I see." Except Edelstein then decided to ignore everything after _"I mean"_. "I'm assuming you want to kidnap me."

"You've got a problem with that?"

"A bit, yes," admitted Edelstein. "I'd like to know why."

"You're Elizabeta Héderváry's fiancé, aren't you?" Behind him, Vash leaned back on the door and crossed his arms.

"Yes, that would be me."After a moment of thought, he concluded, "You want me for some ransom."

"Hostage is good enough."

"West," Gilbert called. "You can come out now."

Ludwig, who had been hiding diligently, sighed as he came out. "I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to be chatting with him."

Behind the large blonde stepped out Nathan, who was there for no other reason than the fun and the fact that Tim deemed it necessary for him to gain some 'field experience'. "Is this where we tell him to come nicely so we won't knock him out but then knock him out anyway?"

"I don't mind going nicely," stated Edelstein mildly.

Vash grunted. "Yeah, let's just go."

So they just left.

The four escorted Edelstein out into the car, where Tim was waiting in the driver's seat. Nathan blindfolded their hostage.

Gilbert tossed the cloth in his hand down.

"I was kind of looking forward to using that," he said sadly.

"I heard chloroform can actually have detrimental effects on the kidney and liver if used in high amounts," Edelstein replied.

The rest of the ride was silent.

They escorted Edelstein—still blindfolded—to the Base, where the rest of the gang loitered. Mathias appeared to be having a singing contest with Feliciano and failing horribly, partly because Lovino was the judge and he was biased and partly because Mathias was simply an awful singer.

Gilbert thought that this was one of the few times when that short-term memory was useful: Mathias had been sulking on the couch when they left, since he had not been allowed onto the mission.

Lukas and Emil were not there either. They were informed yesterday that they were to play no part in the kidnapping, and so had left early, not bothering to stay for a dinner of instant noodles and the briefing afterwards. Now it was past noon and though it was strange that they hadn't turned up yet—it was Sunday after all, it wasn't like they had school, if they were even still going—Gilbert was sure that they'd show up. Mathias was here after all.

Lilli had helped Edelstein out of the blindfold, sat him down on the sofa, and was now offering him a cup of water. Most of the rest of the people were ignoring their captive, though not necessarily on purpose.

There was a rather large group of people gathered around a single laptop where a discussion about what sort of bargain they should strike with Magyar was going on over Skype with Alfred and his copilot, and—to Gilbert's pleasant surprise—Antonio and Francis.

"Yo!" Gilbert bounded excitedly towards the discussion, pushing through the people to greet his two friends. "Tony! Franny!"

"Gilby!" the two exclaimed, their voices crackling slightly over the bad connection.

But just as they were on the verge of a tear-filled reunion party over Skype, there was a knock on the door. A timid yet frantic and nervous knocking that, despite not being the loudest sound in the room, swept the occupants of the Base into momentary silence. As one, including the ones on the laptop screen, they all glanced towards the door, though Lilli was the only one who reacted to open it.

 _Lukas and Emil_ , thought Gilbert, just as the door swung open.

He was only partly correct.

Emil stood there, small frame shaking, face drained and pale, eyes blown wide and frightened, his ugly, twisted arm clutched to his chest as if it was a detached object and not a part of his own body.

Mathias's eyes lit up the moment they landed on the young boy, and he ran up to greet him. "Emil! Where's Lukas?"

Emil did not react to Mathias's enthusiastic welcome. Instead, he shuddered, and his thin shoulders caved in a little.

"I can't find him," he whispered.

Mathias blinked. "Who?"

"Lukas." Those horrified, dark violet eyes seemed to stare at nothing; the emptiness seemed to penetrate the apartment. "He disappeared this morning and I've been looking for him all day and I didn't tell anyone because all of you were already too busy and—"

"Emil." Mathias cut off the increasingly hysterical rant by clutching Emil's shoulders. "Emil, what are you talking about?"

For a moment, Emil looked confused, which Gilbert understood. He thought that despite his shaken demeanor, he had been perfectly clear. But this was Mathias, and who knew how Mathias understood things?

"Lukas." Emil's voice cracked. "Lukas is gone. All I could find is this."

And now it was obvious that there was something clenched into the fist of his crippled arm.

A flower.

"Coincidence," Gilbert breathed, because it wasn't. Because he would recognize that flower anywhere.

It was, after all, _her_ flower.

Magyar.

* * *

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